


remains (an endless loop)

by sammyspreadyourwings



Series: sidereal (always) [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Arguing, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Drunkenness, Early in Canon, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Hospitalization, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jealousy, M/M, Magical Realism, Miscommunication, Movie Verse Characters, Multi, Musical References, Nightmares, One-Sided Attraction, Other Additional Ships to Be Added, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Slow Burn, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Skips, Truth or Dare, showering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2019-10-31 16:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyspreadyourwings/pseuds/sammyspreadyourwings
Summary: John Deacon, Brian May, Freddie Mercury, and Roger Taylor are four misfits that never found where they belong. Brian and Roger find each other. Then Freddie finds them. Brian finds John and John finds them.They still haven't figured things out.akaBeing the best rock band in the world isn't as effortless as they make it seem.





	1. Found be the Lost Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, summary to be edited. Tags to be changed. I have the story planned to 8 chapters currently and it's still in progress, so if I can finagle it'll be the first decade of Queen. Some of the tags don't currently make a lot of sense, but I promise they will.  
> I'm in an awkward place of wanting to not spoil anything and properly tag my work.  
> Fair warning, there might be a long time between each chapter because I want it to get mostly finished before I start posting consistently, so I don't run into the same issues as Eighth Notes which is that I updated and got caught up with what I had prewritten. So, tester chapter?  
> With that enjoy!

> There’s a flash of a hospital room: empty, quiet, cold.
> 
> _Don’t bother coming, he’s gone._

Brian wakes up clutching his chest, sobbing, and feeling like his heart had been ripped out. He’s shaking and struggling to breathe, it’s so hard to focus past the world ending that he barely notices Roger’s got an arm wrapped around him. He gets dragged into the embrace, it’s warm and safe.

“Hey, Bri, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Roger’s voice sounds a hundred miles away. His chest heaved and tears stream down his face and he _hurt._ He doesn’t know how to stop hurting. There’s a trail of warmth rubbing up and down his back.

“One thing you can taste?”

Brian can’t breathe, except he is, but he’s not getting enough air and it feels like he’s drowning.

“Brian,” Roger orders softly, “one thing you can taste.”

“Sa,” he chokes on air, “salt.”

“Two things you can smell?”

He inhales deeply, his pulse is thrumming in his neck, “your…shampoo. The- the air freshener.”

“Good, good,” Roger sounds closer, “three things you can hear.”

This time is breath is steadier, “your voice. My brea…thing. Traffic.”

“Four things you can feel,” Roger breathes next to his ear.

“Blankets. Cold air. Pajamas. Your hand.”

Brian turns towards Roger now, it still feels like he’s been hit by a truck, but Roger is giving him an encouraging smile.

“Five things you can see.”

“Textbooks and the clock,” his chest isn’t heaving any longer, “the Jimi Hendrix poster.”

He stops to take another deep breath, “the moon. Your eyes.”

The weight has lifted from his chest but there’s a longing deep set in his bones that wasn’t there before he went to bed. Roger is smiling bright and sweet at him and then he feels his body tilting forward. He ends up draped over Roger like a blanket, and he’s too exhausted to do anything about how uncomfortable he’s sure the blond is.

“Okay?”

Brian noses into Roger’s neck, “don’t know.”

Roger tangles his fingers in Brian’s hair, it’ll be knotted like hell in the morning, but the weight (barely there but he’s aware of it) is an incredible counterpoint to the lead in his limbs.

“Want to talk about it?”

He thinks for a second, “not sure what there is to talk about.”

“Bri, you woke up _sobbing,”_ Roger says softly, “it scared me half to death. You didn’t notice me for _minutes_.”

There was a strange note to Roger’s voice that made Brian look, really look, at his partner for the first time since he woke up. Roger’s hair was mussed with his fringe sticking up at odd angles, and his blue eyes glow from worry. He hadn’t put a shirt on, they both fell asleep happy and sated, he notes that Roger shivers.

“Brian?” There’s so much to that word.

“I think I had a nightmare,” he shudders at the longing that surges in him, “there was a hospital room, but it was empty and there was someone telling me that someone was gone.”

Roger’s fingers dance down his neck and Brian draws impossibly closer.

“When I woke up, I had this awful feeling like I’d lost my heart… like I would feel like if I lost you.”

He feels Roger’s stubble scrape against his temple just before a soft kiss is placed there.

“I’m here. You won’t lose me, swear.”

Brian smiles despite the anxiety still curling in the pit of his stomach.

“I’ll pinky swear it even!”

Roger tilts his head down and Brian pushes up and they share a soft kiss.

“Will that do for now?” Brian says a little shakily.

Roger beams and Brian is breathless for a much better reason. Sometimes it feels like he’s walking around with his heart beside him. It’s terrifying and intoxicating because he’s always been an affectionate boyfriend, but Roger is the _one._ He knew it the second they played together.

“Fine, but I want another.”

Brian laughs, “for you? As many as you request.”

“I’m greedy,” Roger warns steals a kiss.

“I will gladly endure.”

They’ve only known each other a year, but Brian would trade everything in a heartbeat to keep Roger by his side.

This time when they fall asleep, they don’t wake up until the morning.

Brian wakes up with Roger already straddling him. The sun catches on blond strands and causes the most alluring play of light Brian’s ever seen.

“You’re beautiful.”

Roger flushes, and a devil’s smile plays on his lips as he suddenly grinds down. Brian moans and pushes back desperately. There’s no time for him to catch his breath as Roger steals a kiss. It’s hot and sloppy. A strand of saliva attaches them briefly.

“Morning breath,” Brian warns.

“Really want to stop this?” There’s a pointed grind.

“Not- Not today,” Brian gasps.

Roger hums.

They lazily make out for a few minutes. The morning haze has settled over them and for now, their lust has retreated to the back of their minds.

“Bri,” Roger chants, “Bri, Bri, Bri.”

He’s sitting now, nipping at Roger in time with the nickname. Little red marks stand out against Roger’s skin It makes him unreasonably thrilled.

“Hn, Bri, wanna be in you.”

Brian leans back, “won’t you be late for class?”

“Don’t, hnn, care. Please, Bri. Please. Please.”

“I want you in me too.”

Roger’s slow pace snaps. He pushes Brian back to the bed and reaches over him for lube.

“You have such a pretty face,” Roger whispers on his way back.

“Lo…hn…ok in a mirror?”

“God,” Roger breathes, “if you ever went outside looking like this, I’d have to beat back all of London with a stick.”

Brian laughs and Roger nips at his earlobe in warning, his laughing quickly turns into a moan. Roger bites at his jaw as there’s a soft click.

“You’d like that though,” Brian says when he has enough air to speak, “having people watch you take me.”

Roger gives a full body shudder at the image, “hm, want me to bite you hard enough to leave a mark, and let everyone know who you belong to?”

Brian nods his head enthusiastically enough, but quickly reins in his enthusiasm, Roger might tease him longer if he’s too eager. His reward is a hard bite right under his jaw above the pulse point, there’s no way he’ll be able to cover it without a scarf and he moans loudly.

“You make the best faces,” Roger briefly mouths at the mark in apology, “wish we had a mirror big enough for you to watch as I take you.”

He hears a quiet squelch and then he shifts his hips at the sudden intrusion.

“This okay?” Roger pulls back completely.

“Surprised, but okay.”

He gets a long tender kiss for his honesty.

“Move.”

“Bossy,” Roger admonishes but curls the finger.

Brian closes his eyes, but a sharp bite to his collar makes them open.

“Ah-ah, no thinking.”

Brian tilts his hips and grinds up in urgency, trying to get more friction. Roger smacks at him but quickly adds a second finger.

“Needy.”

“Says the…hh…one who needs se…x first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t look so fuckable at all times.”

This time Brian blushes and keens as Roger's fingers hit that spot in him that has Brian seeing stars. Roger bends back down, “you look like you’re about to come. Haven’t even touched your dick yet.”

Brian tilts his head away, a weak attempt to get away from Roger’s voice. Roger follows him and licks the outer shell of his ear before his hot breath ghosts over it and it makes Brian’s skin tingle.

“Gonna make you come from my dick alone.”

A third finger enters, “still loose.”

“Because you're insatiable.”

“You shouldn’t be able to use such big words in the middle of sex,” Roger pouts.

“Mm, maybe you should be a better distraction.”

“May I?”

Brian nods.

“Verbal, Bri.”

“Yes! Yes, god, yes.”

When Roger removes his fingers, it makes Brian feel uncomfortably empty, but not for very long. There’s another squelch and Roger shoves in slowly. There’s a mild sting of pain from the slightly bad angle but not so much that it can’t be overridden by pleasure. Roger settles and presses his forehead against Brian’s shoulder.

“You feel so good.”

Brian reaches up and threads his fingers through Roger’s hair and pulls slightly. It has the added benefit of getting Roger to thrust involuntarily deeper.

“Move,” Brian purrs.

Roger’s hips start moving. The pace is rapid and uneven, and Brian would make fun of it except Roger finds his rhythm quickly. Brian catches on shortly after that and pushes back against Roger. The earlier laziness has disappeared in favor of trying to find release. As Roger promised his hands stay firmly away from Brian’s dick, instead they bracket Brian’s head. One is also holding down part of Brian’s hair and every time he moves his head, it tugs _just_ enough.

He keeps his hands in Roger’s hair, but he’s stopped pulling in favor of grounding himself and to keep from touching himself, while Roger probably wouldn’t do anything Brian doesn’t want to risk losing any of the pleasure he’s currently experiencing.

There’s a second of hesitation and it’s enough to get Brian from the hazy plane of pleasure he’s residing on.

“Can I,” Roger pants, “can I cum inside you?”

Brian bites his lip in thought and then nods. Roger kisses the bridge of his cheek. He doesn’t last much longer after that, with Roger hitting his prostate almost every thrust. The room is filled with sounds of panting and moaning.

“Cum for me, baby.”

Roger’s voice drops from its usual musical pitch to a husky growl. It does exactly what Brian knows Roger was hoping for and sends him directly over the edge. He comes with a shout and tightens around Roger in reflex. Roger follows a second after, his voice switching pitches partway through and it urges Brian to tighten again.

They come down almost at the same time. Roger is staring him in the eyes with a dopey little grin. Brian shifts enough that Roger slips out of him, and it’s uncomfortable as the cum is quickly cooling.

“Good morning,” Brian whispers once he’s calmed down some.

“Morning babe,” Roger lays flat down next to him.

Brian tilts his head towards the clock, “don’t you have a bio lecture in about thirty minutes?”

Roger’s sleepiness vanishes almost immediately, “shit!”

He laughs as he watches Roger practically fall out of bed in his rush to get to the bathroom.

“Don’t forget we have a gig tonight!”

“Do you need me to pick you up?” Roger calls from the hallway.

“Yeah, my lecture lets out at 3!”

The shower turns on, but Brian knows that Roger heard him, or rather knows his schedule now that he’s been reminded of it. It was the biggest surprise of their relationship learning that Roger was good with timetables unless he gets too distracted like this morning.

Brian lays back and wraps the covers around him, he doesn’t have class until noon and he’s now exhausted from this morning and last night. He’ll shower and clean up the mess in the bed later. Now that he doesn’t have a Roger on top of him, he can still feel the buzzing of another anxiety attack between his ribs and the longing for a person he doesn’t know in his bones. Somewhere further in the house, Roger finished with his two-minute shower, his hair is going to regret that later, and running around to find his school supplies.

“I love you Bri! See you tonight!”

He smiles, “Love you Rog, good luck!”

* * *

Roger steals the bottle from Brian. He half-heartedly swats at the blond who knocks their legs together. Brian wonders if this morning’s nightmare was a prelude to tonight, Tim left them high and dry. Now they have to rebuild the band quickly or lose any of the fame they’ve gathered with the with the locals.

He thinks this might be some cosmic joke when a man approaches them. Brian knows he’s seen him before; the man has an energy around him that’s impossible to ignore along with a look that’s incredibly unique. He’s shy, judging by the quiet way he moves towards them and shuffles his feet when offering the song. Brian is bitter because of course, they get a songwriter as soon as their lead singer quits.

Rearranging the band is impossible because he loves the guitar too much to let someone else take the solos and Roger is touchy enough with rhythms that should he become the frontman another drummer would suffer; the bassist is going to suffer until they live up to Roger’s standards. Speaking of Roger, he’s tipsy and angry so Brian is unsurprised when he snaps at the newcomer ( _“not with those teeth, mate”)_ , but he’s mortified all the same. Brian wants to apologize before the man goes off and tell his friends what an ass Roger is (which he is, but most of the time he’s sweet).

Except, it seems like it settles something in the man and _holy shit_ he can sing. Brian gets caught up in the voice and he can’t himself from joining in and neither can Roger and _wow_ they sound _really good_ together. He can feel a shift in the air between him and Roger and this stranger, like instead of a cosmic joke this was a cosmic happenstance almost as sure as the earth revolving around the sun.

“Do you play bass?” Brian manages to call out before the man disappears.

“Nope!”

Brian gets a flash of this same man in a white tank top and dark armband. He shakes his head to clear it, Roger doesn’t seem to notice it, still caught up in the excitement of a singer that fits. The man matches the band like Roger and Brian clicked that first day.

“Did he tell us his name?” Roger says after some moments.

“No.”

They look at each other and burst out laughing. It’s a giddy feeling because while Tim was a good singer, he didn’t work well with them. Brian isn’t sure if it was the constant needling at his playing or his overt passes at Roger’s sexual history. Roger presses against him for a second using the pretext that he was reaching for another beer.

“We’ll have to find a bassist now,” Roger says as he leans close.

“We’ll hold auditions after finals,” Brian decides.

They sit in the open air for a few more minutes before Brian feels the urge to go home. Roger has hit the sleep stage of drunkenness which means he’s going to get cuddly.

“Let’s go home?”

“I like the way you say that,” Roger’s leaning against him, too close for even best friends.

“I like it too.”

* * *

A week passes before Brian manages to track down the man. When he storms into the design labs the man grins a little sheepishly (and really, they’re going to have to work on that confidence thing) but happily. Brian halfway thinks that this was a test, but he doesn’t get why and the other half of him thinks that Freddie (not the name he would’ve guessed, truthfully) got caught up in his own dramatics. He gets the feeling that Freddie does that a lot.

“Here’s our current set list,” Brian drops the stack of papers on the table.

Freddie picks them up and makes clicking sounds, “really?”

Brian feels vaguely defensive because some of those are his songs, but obviously, they aren’t working considering he still has to scrounge for coins at the end of a pay cycle.

“These all call for a bassist,” Freddie says after a minute.

“Well, Tim did play the bass,” Brian shrugs, “and Roger likes the way it sounds.”

Freddie taps the pen against the table.

Brian secretly bemoans another fidgeter in the band. Last time Roger got worked up he created the drum track for three new songs in lieu of the paper he meant to write. He loves the man, but sometimes he was a little too obsessed with music (not that Brian would love anything more than to spend all day playing guitar and making music). There’s a soft feeling behind his heart that makes him think that Roger and Freddie are going to get along famously, and it’ll turn his hair gray. Whoever they pick as a bassist needs to be someone who doesn’t feed off the energy the way Roger does or emits it the way Freddie does.

“We plan to have auditions after finals,” Brian says.

“I can make a flyer!” Freddie is already doodling.

“We have rehearsals on Sunday, here’s the address.”

Freddie looks at the little slip of paper, and again he’s smiling that shy one. It’s like he’s trying to avoid drawing attention to his lips. Brian understands it but there’s a part of him that hates it, he rather likes the look himself (Roger won’t, but Roger also studies to be a dentist so he’s particular about teeth and dental hygiene).

“I’ll see you then.”

Brian nods and smiles. He’s not sure where this is going to end up, but he’s excited about the band’s prospects for the first time in a long while.

Maybe it’s because they’ve got a center to revolve around now, that the universe decides to give them one last gift. Brian walks out of the design building through the music building, and some whim makes him want to explore some more. Roger has a late lab tonight and he’s got four pages of physics homework that for once he doesn’t feel the need to get done the day it’s assigned.

For being the music building, there’s a strange void of music. He hears the professors discuss the music greats or the theory behind why a piece of music worked the way it did. Brian snorts as if music was a physics formula. How can a person know music if they don’t play it? Pieces work because the people love them, or the songs were crafted with love and attention to detail. There’s a framework of a formula, some notes will never harmonize no matter how much you try to force them together but otherwise, you don’t have to think about adding so much of this and having to balance with that. Music has no laws governing it, unlike the universe.

Then he hears it. As he’s about to head down the stairs to leave. It’s faint. He knows a bass guitar just as well as he knows his own guitar. The music is coming from the floor above, and he hauls himself up the staircase. Now that he’s on the right floor the bass is louder, he follows the music to one of the old practice rooms. He tries to think of what song the bassist is playing, for a conversation opener, but none come to mind. Brian _knows_ he would remember a song with a bass line that rhythmic.

Finally, he gets to the room and is happy to see that the door is cracked open. Brian peers into the room. The man playing looks completely ordinary, but he stands out simply because of his long hair and angular features. Honestly, he looks younger than even Roger who has been known to be mistaken for a 6th former.  He has a look of concentration on his face as he bops to the rhythm he’s creating. Brian is certain that this is some mindless line he’s coming up with one the spot because every once and awhile the tempo or chords changes for no apparent reason.

Brian can’t even imagine the entire music sheet, but he has an intrinsic need to get his own guitar and play along. He wants to fill in the beats with his own chords.

The bassist stops playing suddenly and Brian wonders if he’s made noise.

“I can feel you staring, you know,” the bland voice is a surprise.

“Er,” Brian slips into the room, “sorry, I heard you playing, and I got caught up in it.”

The man rolls his eyes, “you got caught up in a bass track?”

“I haven’t heard it before.”

“I just made it up, so of course you haven’t.”

Brian hadn’t thought the man would be this standoffish, but then again, he probably caught him at a private moment. Usually, when musicians play alone, there’s a reason. He knows he and Roger have had their share of chasing each other out of their “instrument room” when they needed to get out of their head or work something out through music.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. It sounded very good.”

The man looks a little surprised.

“I’ve never heard bass played like that.”

“I don’t sound any different than any other bassist, just different notes.”

Brian tilts his head, “but that’s the point of being a musician, coming up with something new.”

“Far be it for me to call myself a musician. I’m studying electrical engineering.”

There’s a wistful note to his voice. Brian gets it. He feared that when he went to college, he would have to give up all his dreams about being a musician like his father suggested. Of course, his parents don’t know about the band (or Roger), but he doesn’t think he could live with the regret if he didn’t try. He senses a similar soul.

“My band is actually having auditions for a bassist sometime after finals,” Brian blurts.

The man arches an eyebrow, “really?”

“It’s called Smile.”

“I’ve heard of you guys, I thought your singer played bass.”

“No, that one quit. We found a singer to replace him, but not a bassist yet.”

“Surely they’re a dime a dozen around here,” the man snorts.

Brian shrugs, “there are a few, but I think if you auditioned those others won’t stand a chance.”

“You think I’m that good?”

“I think you’re great.”

“What do I call you?”

“Brian May.”

The man offers a hand. Brian notes that it’s covered in calluses from hours playing a stringed instrument. He knows that this is someone who doesn’t want to give up the music in their life.

“John Deacon.”

“Well, keep an eye out for our flyers, yeah?”

John tilts his head, “I might.”

* * *

Roger sweeps Brian up into a small dance as soon as he steps through the flat. He laughs because Roger is trying to lead despite the centimeters he has on the man. Blue eyes are sparkling with happiness.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?”

They waltz into the kitchen before Roger slips away.

“We’re going to have a band!”

“We already were in a band.”

He gets a withering look for his remark.

“I mean, it’ll be a _band_ and not just three blokes playing together on the weekends.”

Brian arches an eyebrow, “and how did you reach this conclusion?”

“Simple,” Roger holds up one finger, “math.”

“Math?”

“Math.”

Roger’s mind works in a fascinatingly brilliant way, but sometimes he leaves Brian behind. It’s a strange feeling considering he’s used to being one of the smartest in the room. He sits on one of the stools and waits for Roger to explain, which he eventually does.

“It’s an equation! You and I are the known values, Tim was what we were trying to get rid of-”

“Roger that’s rude.”

“And now we’re getting two more unknown values, and they’ll balance out like it does in chemistry.”

“What exactly are they balancing out?” Brian frowns.

“Us! We’re talented, but we have similar music preference so there’s no one from the outside giving us a way to make our music better.”

That’s fair, he supposes. He already can tell Freddie is different from both he and Roger, they click so he’s certain there will be a middle ground that they can find.

“I meant a very good bassist today.”

Roger stops his bouncing, but his eyes are practically sparkling, “really?”

“You should have heard him, Rog, I hope he comes to our auditions.”

“He must’ve been good,” Roger nods, “but how do you know?”

“The riffs he was playing, I don’t think he composed them before he started playing.”

“What’s his name?”

“John Deacon, he studies electrical engineering.”

Roger’s smile turns mischievous, “I’ll make sure to get him to come to the auditions.”

“He doesn’t seem the type to say yes when he’s being harassed.”

“Neither are you,” Roger says pointedly.

Brian chuckles and pulls Roger to him. The blond comes willingly, and they just enjoy each other’s presence for a moment. They have an entire future together in their heads, its really no question that they’ll be together, but they’ve always wondered what it is that they would be doing together.

* * *

Auditions are hectic. Brian lets Roger and Freddie organize them, and then quickly learns that they get along famously (just as he thought they would) but they don’t have similar styles when it comes to working. He’s spent more time keeping Roger from killing Freddie than prepping the group.

“We only have this space until 14:00, it’s 11:00 right now, and we have about twenty bassists to get through,” Brian finally snaps.

Freddie stops pouting and Roger perks up.

“Now, we’ll just do this on a scorecard,” Brian pulls out a stack of notecards with different sections, “person with the highest number is in the band unless we can unanimously agree on another bassist.”

Roger grabs the notecards, “you saw this coming, yeah?”

Brian doesn’t answer that, “I’m going to go and check on them. Try not to kill each other in the meantime.”

He decides to separate the main group into five smaller groups of four. They have an uneven number, so the group of three is scheduled to go last in case they have a latecomer. Secretly Brian is holding out hope that John will make it.

“Okay, group one. Follow me.”

The morning moves slowly from there. Some of the bassists are talented but Brian can tell they wouldn’t get along well in the band and the others are nice enough people, but their playing is subpar. By the third group, Roger is trying to balance a pen on his nose and Freddie is doodling. He sighs and calls for the fourth group.

There’s not an outstanding match either. Although this group had the highest quality of bass playing.

“This is impossible,” Roger sighs, “they’re all playing music that shows their skills rather than them.”

Freddie rolls his eyes, “well they are trying to impress us.”

Brian raises his eyes skyward and asks for the patience to get through the next three auditions. To his surprise, John Deacon has joined the group, he smiles sheepishly when he meets eyes with Brian.

“Hope you have something prepared,” Brian says in greeting.

“I have something.”

He leads the group back to the audition room. Brian doesn’t pay much attention to the bassists, as par for the course they can play their instruments but don’t have any spectacular skill. It would be fine if they were a cover band or just a college group looking for something to do, but they want to go to the big times and everyone is going to have to pull more weight than the usual band member. Finally, it’s John’s turn. He nudges Roger who perks up in understanding.

“Can you introduce yourself?” Freddie asks from where he’s slumped over.

“John Deacon,” he says it quietly, “I study electrical engineering.”

“And what are you going to be playing for us, John?” Roger asks.

John shuffles a little nervously, Brian offers an encouraging smile.

“I’m playing something I wrote. I have the sheet music if you want to follow along.”

Freddie finally perks up, “I’d love to see it.”

Brian leans back as John digs through his bag and pulls out a folder clearly labeled “Music.” It makes him laugh for some strange reason, but he covers it quickly because he’s pretty sure John wouldn’t appreciate it. He takes a quick look at the music, and it looks standard until he gets to what he assumes is the chorus, then it’s a symphonic mixture of chords that even the most experienced bass players wouldn’t attempt.

Roger’s reading over the notes and tapping it out, he can sense the eagerness in the younger male. Brian looks at Freddie who looks equally intrigued. John settles back to where most the bassists have stood.

“Okay, play whenever you’re ready.”

He holds his breath until he hears the first few notes. John has started only a few staffs away from the chorus, and Brian is impressed by his boldness. He’s caught up in the riff after thirty seconds and can barely look away to check on this other band members. Freddie is practically vibrating with the urge to move, and he’s grinning wildly. Roger, on the other hand, is bouncing to the rhythm, his fingers mimicking drumsticks and creating a drum track to match the riff.

Brian is so entirely glad that John decided to show up, more so when the chorus hits and John’s hands play through the rhythm as easily as Mary had a Little Lamb on the piano. John stops shortly after that, letting the rhythm die down naturally.

Freddie claps. It’s the first time he’s done so today. He glances back at Brian and Roger who nod to the unasked question.

“Congratulations,” Fred stands to shake John’s hand, “you’re in the band.”

John looks a little overwhelmed at the thought and even more so at Roger’s excited babbling. Brian offers him a slight smile.

“Told you the others wouldn’t stand a chance.”


	2. And Bound Be Their Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going up instead of Eighth Notes, which hopefully I can double update next week.  
> Otherwise, I'm glad to get some interested generated in this story. Hopefully, I can pick up some steam in Chapter 2! These tags are fuckin wild ngl.

Roger wants to throttle someone. Currently, the frontrunners include himself (because it was his idea that let this situation occur) or Deaky who is currently causing this situation. Brian is a dark horse who inadvertently lead to the situation, but he’d probably enjoy being choked… _so_ not much of a punishment.

When he suggested they move in together Roger really hadn’t thought about the fact it would be four of the most attractive men in London in the same flat. He loves Brian and wouldn’t ever cheat on him, but he can’t help but be interested when _John Deacon_ is half-naked and angry in his kitchen. Roger thinks he might just have a thing for guys with wiry frames and long hair. He watches John not-quite-yelling yell at Brian who looks a little lost. Not that Roger blames him as John is usually the last to anger in the group. It must be the stress of finals.

Then John takes a step forward and Roger’s brain short circuits. He can almost imagine John taking one more step and pinning Brian against the wall. It’s a weird feeling because he would be hurt if Brian went along with it, but another part of his brain just wants to watch. The moment passes and Roger snaps back into himself.

Brian yells back which brings Freddie, half-dressed, running into the kitchen. Roger nearly slams his head against the counter. He’s going to die. His cause of death is going to be written as a heart attack because this band has a thing against shirts.

The look Brian sends him is very sympathetic.

* * *

 

> _Big windows and good acoustics. The room is bright, but the air feels heavy._
> 
> _“I’ve got_ it _.”_

Brian shoots up, his chest heaving. He struggles to catch his breath. There’s a hand on his back. It feels like he’s done this before. This time anxiety spins around his lungs.

“Bri, baby?”

“Bad dream,” He answers.

Roger puts his hand on Brian’s shoulder, “are you okay?”

“I think so.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“It was another vague dream, but it was Fred’s voice.”

Roger climbs into Brian’s lap, “you’re just stressed babe.”

Brian nods, “yeah, maybe.”

“Or you’re having premonitions!”

Brian frowns, “Rog, there’s no such thing.”

“See?” Roger grins, “that means that Fred is fine. He’s with Mary tonight. They’re probably shagging as we speak.”

“Didn’t need to think about that.”

Roger laughs and Brian grins despite himself. The anxiety lights up his spine, but he shoves it down. He saw Freddie today and the man is healthy and relatively happy.

“Babe, we have a band meeting tomorrow,” Roger pushes him down.

“Don’t get yourself riled.”

Brian says that, but he feels himself getting interested. For once Roger doesn’t press his advantage.

“Not tonight,” Roger slurs already falling back asleep.

“Mm.”

“I’ll blow you tomorrow.”

Brian chokes on a laugh. Still, Roger’s weight tamps down the anxiety, he’s warmer than a quilt he’s owned.

He wakes up to Roger poking him in the cheek.

“Come on, we’re going to be late!”

“Why’re you so excited?” Brian grumbles.

“We start on the new set today!”

Brian arches an eyebrow, “are you sure? News to me.”

This new set is all they’ve been talking about since pubs began reaching out to them to book a gig. Freddie has been itching to get rid of the rest of Tim’s songs. Roger and himself love making new sounds. This is also important to John because now he’s adding his own sound to the band.

Sure, John’s officially in the band but he’s only been playing rewritten riffs from Tim. Brian can get tell that John isn’t exactly upset, but he knows from experience it feels so much better to play something original. Roger has been sure to comment on John’s playing and complimenting him on how good he sounds. He’s been encouraging John to write riffs that they could put into their new setlist.

He looks up at Roger’s face and it almost looks offended.

“Brian,” Roger whines.

“I’m moving.”

Roger goes behind him and physically pushes him out of the bed. Brian suddenly stands which sends Roger toppling onto the bed with the sudden lack of resistance. He yelps in surprise.

“You know Fred is going to be an hour late.”

“No excuses!” Roger’s voice goes high, “Shower, shave, brush your teeth!”

Brian hurries to the bathroom. He manages to get a look at the clock. They weren’t in any danger of running late, but Roger has apparently considered the daily struggle that is his hair. Halfway through his shower Roger joins him.

“Saves time.”

Brian laughs, “is that your only reason?”

“You being naked and wet is certainly a bonus.”

He flicks water at Roger who takes it in stride, who instead reaches up and runs his fingers through Brian’s mostly straight hair.

“How do you still have tangles?”

“An unfortunate side effect of curly hair.”

Roger wraps around him briefly to grab the conditioner. They shower in silence while Roger works the conditioner through his hair. Even Brian can feel the tangles working themselves out.

“Okay, that’s better.”

“Thank you,” Brian turns towards to Roger, “want me to return the favor?”

“Hm. Not today.”

Brian nods. Roger is even more touchy about his hair than Brian. He only lets people mess with his hair because of how unimaginable the curls could be at somedays. Even then it’s only people that he knows won’t cause any lasting damage.

“I’ll let you finish.”

Brian steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist and stairs drying his hair, careful to avoid causing breakage. He winces at the stringiness of his damp hair. Slowly he starts treating it to get its usual volume. His hair is only a quarter of the way dry when Roger emerges from the bathroom. Brian watches him with envy as he rubs the towel over his hair carelessly.

“If you don’t dry your poodle, you’re going to regret it.”

Brian tosses a hair clip at Roger’s back. Roger cackles and starts digging through the closest. He returns his attention back to his hair and thirty minutes later it’s at a level of dampness that won’t cause him grief tonight. It’s not as fluffy as it usually is, but he knows once it fully dries it’ll perk up. He stands and digs through the closet to find whatever outfit matches and is an “acceptable level of glam.” Roger’s eyes run up and down him when he enters the kitchen, so he guesses he made good choices.

“We need to leave in about ten minutes.”

Brian takes the offered piece of toast and he smells the tea brewing. It’s one of his favorite brands and he smiles at Roger.

“Should be finished in a minute.”

He nods gratefully and leans against the counter. Roger immediately presses against his side. Brian ducks down and presses a chaste kiss to Roger’s temple. He smells the body wash and notes with some giddiness that Roger has used his soap. They stare in each other’s eyes and suddenly Roger leans up on his toes and places a light kiss on Brian’s lips. Brian chases Roger as he settles back down. He nips playfully at Roger’s bottom lip.

Unsurprisingly they leave later than they should have. Brain pours the rest of the tea into a thermos. John will at least appreciate it since he’s more than likely been at the meeting place for twenty minutes. Good ol’ reliable John.

Roger makes fun of him for getting in the car and immediately reaching for the handle.

“You know I’m not a terrible driver!”

“Yes, but we’re in a rush.”

Truthfully, Roger is a safe driver. He knows exactly what he can get away with before it becomes too dangerous. Thanks to Roger’s driving they make it to the spot only fifteen minutes late. As expected, John is present and playing on his bass. He nods in greeting.

“Tea?” Brian holds the thermos up.

“Thanks.”

Roger moves behind the drum set and starts beating out the rhythm to Doing Alright. Brian joins in with his guitar, mindlessly playing along while thinking of how peaceful his morning turned out to be despite moderately ominous dreams. John joins in with an extravagant (for the song) riff and Brian tilts his head and plays a little more complex set of chords. Of course, that makes John play a more extravagant riff. The drumbeat drops off but neither notice it.

Freddie arrives twenty minutes later ducking into the room with a chagrined smile. Their rendition of Doing Alright has turned into a competition. Brian is enjoying it, but also deeply regretting it because John is hyper-focused and just irritated enough for it to show on his face. It’s insanely hot and Brian doesn’t know what to do with himself other than to keep playing and be immensely grateful that his guitar is so low on his hips.

Roger also is a little glassy-eyed and has a dopey smile.

Fred claps his hands, “alright, darlings, let’s make music!”

Bless Fred, honestly.

* * *

Brian and Roger don’t get home until 2 am, Fred snuck off to be with Mary around eleven and John stayed behind to finish working through a lyric. His mind is still looping on the arousal he felt today in the band room, towards _John._ Roger he’s come to expect, but John is way out left field (even though he knows there have been occasions when he thought John was stunning). God, does he love Roger, so much. It’s why he decides that’s only fair that he tells him.

“Rog, can I talk to you about something?”

“Oh no,” Roger says lightly but his body tenses.

Brain lead Roger into the dining room. His thumb is rubbing a comforting circle on Roger’s wrist, and he’s happy to see that Roger’s guard hasn’t gone up. Good to know he hasn’t completely ruined things yet. There’s really no way to preface this conversation without making it sound completely awful and nothing has happened!

“I promise it’s nothing terrible.”

They sit with Brian at the head of the table and Roger next to him. Their knees knock together, and it’s the greatest comfort in the world.

“So, what’s up?” Roger’s teeth flash, “this is where you tell me you’re pregnant yeah?”

Brian laughs, “yes, that’s exactly what I had in mind.”

“I hope it’s a boy,” it’s Roger’s turn to stroke a thumb over Brian’s knuckles, “but really, what’s wrong?”

“I thought I should tell you,” his breath quickens as he thinks of the ways to say his next statement.

There’s no beating around the bush, but he can’t be too indelicate with this or take too long to explain it. Especially since step two is reassuring Roger that he loves him and would never cheat on him.

“In the spirit of transparency,” he says, and now it sounds like a business deal, “I’m sort of attracted to John.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Roger barks out a laugh. That’s not where he thought that this was going to go.

“Everyone is attracted to John.”

Brian blinks and files that information away, “you aren’t mad?”

“No, I trust you.”

He lets out a breath. While he knew this (probably) wouldn’t ruin their relationship, Roger is hard to read on the best day and his reactions are as varied as snowflakes.

“Truthfully, I’m attracted to John as well.”

“Yeah?”

Brian doesn’t feel any ugly emotion which is what he suspects Roger felt like at his admission. He knows Roger has a bad track record with relationships, but Brian trusts him completely and doesn’t think for a minute that Roger would throw what they have away for a single night.

“Mm,” Roger leans back a mirthful glint in his eyes, “think John would join us in bed sometime?”

He rolls his eyes at the statement. Of course, Roger would go there.

“Think about it!”

“Why?”

“It’s a win-win-win!”

He knows he shouldn’t give in, “how so?”

“John gets to fuck you, which I can tell you from personal experience is fantastic. You,” Roger points at him, “get to be properly dominated, you know John isn’t going to be meek in bed.”

“And what do you get out of this? Also, why do you think about what John is like in bed?” Brian purses his lips, _vaguely_ interested in this very hypothetical situation.

“Passes the time,” Roger shrugs, “but what I would get out of this is the very pretty picture of you two fucking or knowing John is coming apart while he’s watching us fuck.”

The flush crawls up his neck to his ears in seconds. He never thought about playing to Roger’s voyeur kink, but that sounds incredibly nice and the thought of it being John… Brian has to get up and walk away from the table. And change the subject.

“Didn’t you promise to suck me off?”

He laughs as he hears rapid footsteps chase after him. Roger moves past him and tugs at his wrist. Brian smiles, he’s never understood his boyfriend’s love of blowjobs but he can’t claim to hate it. He loves receiving as much as Roger loves giving.

It helps that Roger is good at it.

He is pushed against the wall the second they enter the bedroom. Roger laps and sucks at the darkened spots along his collar. They’re fading, and Brian appreciates Roger’s attention to them. When Roger pulls away Brian catches him in a chaste kiss but grinds forward. There’s a spark of joy in Roger’s eyes at the show of dominance. It’s been the hardest challenge of their relationship balancing both of their submissive preferences.

“How do you want to be?” Brian tries to deepen his voice.

Roger hums and licks his lips, “here, you fucking my mouth.”

Brian gets a second to process the words before Roger expertly undoes his pants and sinks to his knees in one motion. It’s talented and hot, and he’s not sure if he wants to talk dirty or praise Roger more. His chest is heaving and he’s already achingly hard and they haven’t even started.

“Rog, Jesus, _hng_ fuck you’re so,” he trails off.

Roger smiles coyly, “and I haven’t even put my mouth to use yet.”

Brian tries to glare but then Roger yanks his briefs down and he hisses at the cold air touching his dick.

“Careful, yeah? Haven’t done this in a while.”

He nods. Typically, he only thrusts shallowly and that suits them well enough, but Roger is warning him to watch his movement more than usual. His knees nearly buckle when Roger just takes the head into his mouth and sucks.

The following laughter makes it near impossible for him to stay upright. Roger grants him mercy and pulls off to deliver one long lick along the underside of the length. He feels Roger place a hand on his hip. It wasn’t enough to hinder movement, but it was enough of a reminder.

His only warning from Roger is a strangely innocent look before the blond takes him in his mouth completely. Brian’s world narrows down to the wet heat and soft pressure from Roger’s tongue.

“Fuck, babe, so good.”

Roger’s eyes vanish as he closes them in pleasure. There’s no stopping the string of praise after that. He’s not sure what Rog is doing exactly because Brain throws his head back and tries to remember how to breathe. Roger pulls back for air and Brian finally looks back down. _Fuck!_ The blond looks wrecked. Drool pools in the corner of his mouth and his lips are slightly red and swollen, Roger’s hair sticks up in odd angles were Brian had apparently buried his hands. Other strands were starting to stick to his forehead from sweat.

The smile kills him.

“What me to swallow?”

Brian struggles to think of words, “won’t be able to warn you.”

Roger tilts his head and then goes back to sucking cock with enthusiasm. Brian doesn’t last much longer, apparently, he’s keyed up from something or Rog is just that good.

“Rog!”

It’s more warning than he thought he would be able to give, and Roger swallows. His orgasm is lengthened by the sensation of Roger’s throat tightening slightly. Roger pulls off with a soft pop and a shit-eating grin. Brian is too tired to wonder about the private challenge Roger made himself.

Some minutes later Brian figures out how to move his limbs, “bloody hell Rog.”

“New record!”

“Yeah,” he’s blissed out and confident, “what should your reward be?”

Roger purses his lips as if in thought. It looks genuine but Roger maps out every sexual encounter. He always knows what he wants and how he wants it.

“Handjob,” Roger purrs out.

“Bed?”

There’s no verbal answer, but Roger stands and guides Brian to the bed where he gracelessly pulls them down. Brian adjusts quickly and he undoes the pants a lot slower than Roger. The blond kicks them off.

“Commando?”

Roger smiles.

Brian slips into the state where praise just tumbles from his mouth. Usually, he isn’t noisy during sex but Roger loves it so he’s learned how to be loud. A strange thought for a wanna-be Rockstar.

“Such a good job. Making me cum so fast.”

Roger whines when Brian removes his hand to grab lube.

“So good. Just waiting for your reward.”

He rubs his hands together to warm the lube and Roger watches him panting heavily.

“Simply perfect the way you can take me all the way down your throat.”

Brian twists his hand and Roger keens, “you’re so beautiful on your knees and I have the best seat.”

Roger moans and makes eye contact which Brian holds, “you’re a pretty little thing. So talented with your mouth. I love how you know what you do to me.”

Brian grins at the excited nod. He thumbs the head of Roger’s cock and notes the pre-cum. As he focuses on what he his hand is doing his voice trails off.

“Bri wanna hear you!”

“So needy,” he teases, “maybe I like hearing you beg. Everyone knows what it does to me when you sing. Such a lovely voice.”

He tugs a little harder and then turns his touches feather-light, “but you like that, everyone seeing how turned on I am by your voice.”

Roger’s moans rise in pitch and Brian knows he’s close.

“Everyone knows how sexy you are behind the drums, but you look the best like this. On your back, panting for relief, hair a mess. You just let me set the pace like the perfect lay you are.”

That’s what pushes Roger’s moan to the breathy staccato as he cums. Brian removes his hand and wipes it on the bedsheet before using a corner to wipe off Roger’s stomach. It’s too late to worry about cleaning it tonight. Honestly, it was a fairly bad idea to even have sex considering the time. Then again, tomorrow was Sunday and they could afford to sleep in.

“God, Bri, you’re perfect.”

“So are you.”

Roger’s smile softens at the edges and he curls into Brian’s side. They’re warm and sated and there’s genuinely no place that Brian can think of that would be better than here.

“Love you,” Roger says it like it’s something precious.

“I love you,” Brian says it back the same way.

They drift off to sleep.

> It’s the hospital room again. Pristine, white, and cold. There’s coughing and wheezing. A tang of copper fills the air.
> 
> _“Don’t be sad. I lived a good life.”_

Brian opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. Adrenaline courses through his body alongside the twin feelings of loss and longing. The nightmare doesn’t make any more sense than it did before. It feels like it should. He wants to know _why_ that was Freddie’s voice. He wants to know _why_ it feels more like a memory than a dream. Hell, he’s not sure how he knows that was Freddie’s voice, it sounded far too lifeless and resigned and weak to belong to the Freddie who was dancing around their corner of the library this afternoon.

He’s almost scared it’s Roger and the voice in his fading moments just _sounds_ like Freddie. It could be both of him and that thought terrifies him.

Roger climbs into bed next to him, “sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

Brian realizes that they probably had only gone to sleep an hour ago at the most and decent people would still be asleep at this time, “hm. Why did you leave me cold and lonely then?”

“Was thirsty,” Roger presses back into his spot against Brian’s side.

“Yeah?”

Roger somehow wiggles on top of him, “but I’m back. We’re okay. Let's sleep until noon.”

Brian wants to know how and when Roger got so good at reading him.

“S’cause I love you,” Roger hums happily, “now, stop thinking and sleep.”

He finds that he really doesn’t have the willpower to fight with Roger’s sleepy commanding voice. His eyes close almost immediately.

* * *

Brian prays that this birthday dinner won’t end up terribly. Roger seems to think that at the very least they’ll get blackmail on Freddie. John, as always, is happy to go along because the singer asked him to.

_We’re having a birthday supper on Sunday, Deaky. You’re welcome to come and bring whomever you like. Brian, Rog, feel free to come._

The invite stung a little. Not enough to cause an argument, but sometimes Brian thinks that Freddie dotes on John a little too much. Granted John is barely in his second year at Uni, but he is an adult. Roger ignored it and Brian figures he should too, but well, it seems he’s deadset on being annoyed with Freddie. It’s not like he’ll get an apology, mostly because Freddie hasn’t done anything wrong.

They show up together. Brian wonders what a sight they must make, huddled together on a porch. Freddie’s mother opens the door. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but probably someone who doesn’t look like the typical housewives of England. Roger looks equally surprised. How can someone who raised Freddie not be some extravagant person? His father looks equally normal, although the scowl lends to a slight but immediate dislike. Freddie’s sister also normal.

It’s…bizarre.

Brian wasn’t expecting a circus, but he supposes he shouldn’t have expected anything. Fred is one of a kind. Roger shakes his head and John’s already entered the house.

“Brian May,” he holds out his hand.

“Bomi Bulsara,” the man shakes it, “this is my wife Jer, and daughter Kashmira.”

“Roger Taylor.”

“John Deacon.”

Mrs. Bulsara quickly ushers them towards the dining room. Roger is gawking. Brian doesn’t begrudge him the curiosity. They barely know anything about Freddie, and they’re together practically every day. The table is already set, and Brian doesn’t know how to make small talk. He’s been sensing an awkwardness in the room, and he guesses it’s between Freddie and Mr. Bulsara considering the pair have barely looked at each other. Brian pulls John to sit next to him while Roger sits across from him and playfully strikes up a conversation with Kashmira.

He’s sure Roger would be upset to be shot down twice in a matter of seconds if he was trying.

“Lovely home,” John says after a few seconds of quiet.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Bulsara says before hurrying to the kitchen.

Brian gives John a sympathetic look. He hadn’t thought that getting a conversation going would be this hard. Parents usually liked him and John. Roger and Freddie both look a little overdressed and glamorous for the home, but Freddie is able to get away with it.

There’s a knock on the door and Mrs. Bulsara sets down a dish before she hurries to the door. Mary smiles, and Brian thinks they’re saved.

They are judging by the way Mrs. Bulsara lights up and begins fawning over her. Freddie moves away to save Mary and let (Brian is assuming) her father into the house. Brian glances back to Mr. Bulsara, who is stone-faced and staring at a wall. He gets not having a good relationship with parents, his own are starting to remind him of his schooling considering he’s been talking less about his classes and more about what Queen is doing.

Brian isn’t looking forward to the discussion he’s going to have when he tells them he’s dropping out of grad school to focus on the band full time. Roger is already completely devoted, biology degree in hand and no further prospects of graduate programs or dentistry. He’s not sure what John’s plan is, and Freddie is already a few years out of his last semester at college.

With the addition of Mary to the table, the room brightens. Freddie is clearly enamored, and Brian wishes that he could be that open with Roger without fear of retribution from the public (or likely an argument with one of the Bulsaras). John looks a little wistful. Brian catches him looking at Roger and Freddie with the same kind of look. He doesn’t understand that, but before he can think further Mrs. Bulsara places that food on the table with a happy smile.

Mary, I cannot tell you how long I have waited for Farrokh to bring home a nice girl like you,” Mrs. Bulsara says kindly.

“Farrokh?”

Brian looks up from the meal he’s picking through. John “steals” chicken off his plate. He’s not sure he heard correctly.

Mrs. Bulsara looks between him and Mary confused, “did Farrokh not tell you he was born in Zanzibar?”

“No, he did not,” Mary replies.

Roger looks at Freddie a little scandalized. Brain knew that their singer was private, but he didn’t think that he’d go so far as to lie about it. He thinks back and guesses that there weren’t any untruths. They never asked.

“I thought Freddie was born in London?” John asks.

“He was born in London at the age of eighteen,” Kashmira says with a dreamy intonation.

Mrs. Bulsara looks pleased as she stands up, “ah, one minute.”

“I used to know a girl from Zanzibar,” Roger says a little lightly, but curbs his tongue at Mr. Bulsara’s heavy glance.

“Our family is Indian Parsi,” Mrs. Bulsara returns with what looks to be a photo album.

He glances around the table to see that everyone is as excited at the idea of blackmail as he is.

“Mom. Mom. Mom,” Freddie raises his hand to stop the book from being handed, Mary.

“We need to see this,” Brian says taking the book instead.

“Oh please!” John says at the same time Roger says, “please.”

Freddie gets up and walks out of the dining room. Brian ignores him in favor of looking through the photo album with John peering over his shoulder. The bassist is a little closer than normal, but then again this is prime blackmail material. He passes it off to Roger and Mary to look at a very young Freddie in an amusing outfit.

“1000 years ago, the Parsi fled to India from Persia to escape Muslim persecutions,” Mr. Bulsara says sternly.

Brian wonders if the man ever smiles, “really? That’s terrible.”

There’s a lapse in conversation.

“So why did you leave Zanzibar?”

“We didn’t leave, we were chased out with only the clothes on our backs.”

Brian wonders why Freddie never told him any of this. Although he supposes if it was an unhappy childhood, there wouldn’t be much to talk about. He has a lot of questions, but he doubts that this is the time and place for that conversation.

Mary picks up a photo and hands it to Mrs. Bulsara, “he was quite a good boxer.”

That’s another thing he wouldn’t have guessed. Freddie always seems like he’s above the fray in some regards. Brian can’t imagine Freddie losing his temper enough to fight someone or even willing fight someone for the fun of it. He misses Kashmira’s response as Freddie starts playing the piano. It’s become a sort of dog whistle to Brian because usually, he’s working on new material for the band.

 “Happy birthday, Mr. Mercury.”

Hearing the name out loud sent a mix of odd emotions from him. They had spoken about the name a few weeks, maybe a couple of months, ago. John and himself had argued that there was no need to go as far as to legally change his name, Roger hadn’t cared either way, but hearing it now Brian can’t help but think it was the right choice. He felt excited at the idea of such a bold declaration of their expected success but also nostalgic, as though he hadn’t heard the name in years.

“Mercury?” Kash asks.

“No looking back, only forward.”

He has said the same thing when asked about why he had to change it legally. Brian glances around the table and sees the tension begin to rise.

Mr. Bulsara finally drops the pseudo-pleasant tone, “so now the family name isn’t good enough for you?”

“Darling it’s just a stage name.”

“No, I had it changed legally. It’s on my passport and everything.”

Brian ducks lower to avoid being caught in the middle of the argument. Roger wraps both of his legs around Brian’s ankle as best he can at this angle. John leans away from him and glances back to where Freddie is playing the piano a little louder.

He admittedly gets distracted by Roger and jumps at the suddenly hostile tone.

“I sent Farrokh away to make a good Parsi boy out of him. Too wild and unruly. But what good did it do? Good thoughts, good words, good deeds.”

Kashmira seems undisturbed by it all as she gracefully moves through the words being thrown at each other to the other side of the room.

“You can’t get anywhere pretending to be something your not.”

_He’s not what you’ve tried to make him._ Brian thinks bitterly, _he’s doing what he’s meant to do._

“Who would like some cake?” Mrs. Bulsara asks.

“Yes,” John seems relieved at the break in the argument.

They’re each served a slice. Roger takes a small one as he’s not overly fond of sweets. John seems to watch the exchange with rapt attention.

“Freddie tells me your some kind of scientist?” Mrs. Bulsara asks after she sits down.

“Astrophysics, actually.”

Roger rolls his eyes.

“Oh.”

“My father would prefer that actually,” he offers as a token, to at least let her know that it's not just this family being unsupportive.

“Very clever,” Mrs. Bulsara says.

“He’s a dentist!” John gestures towards Roger.

“I was never a dentist!” Roger narrows his eyes.

“He’s a dentist?” John asks

Brian nods, “he’s a dentist.”

Mrs. Bulsara looks between them amused, “that’s also very clever.”

They mutter between themselves.

“I have an announcement.”

Freddie catches his attention. Brian’s never understood how Freddie can command a room by just simply standing. It’s impressive, if at times a little unnerving because it never fails to not work even at their own flat.

“One of the A and R men from EMI saw us recording and gave our demo to John Reid, he looks after Elton John.”

His jaw drops. He can’t believe someone that high up heard their music. He doesn’t know where the next sentence is going to go, but he can’t believe that someone agreed that they were good enough to give their demo to a big shot. John almost sounds like he’s hyperventilating next to him. Roger gasps and leans forward.

“He wants to meet us,” Freddie’s eyes dart between the three of them, “possibly even manage us.”

“Shut up!” John leans back with his hands on his hair.

“You’re joking?” He asks.

He doesn’t think Freddie would joke about this.

Brian grabs John by the face and brings him into a hug. John tenses in surprise but hugs back. Roger is up and hugging Freddie before Mary gently brakes in. He stands and pulls Roger into a hug before letting go and moving towards Freddie.

“We’ve done it!” He says after pulled away.

“We’ve got our foot in the door,” Freddie says with a twirl of his hand, “but we haven’t even gotten started.”

John and Roger come up beside him wearing twin grins of excitement. They pull each other into a group hug. Brian catches a glimpse at Mary and Mr. Bulsara who both look as though they’ve lost something. Roger claps him on the back and he’s drawn into a conversation about the meeting. They’re all excited, and it makes Brian wonder if they’ve ever felt doubt at them succeeding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot which parts are in this chapter hang on -  
> Right! So in this house we stan communication. Also, any dialogue from the movie is not mine, obviously! Thoughts on what's going one :eyes:?  
> As always, leave your thoughts and comments below, or yell at me @sammyspreadyourwings


	3. Til Dangerous Seas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late. I know. But. Enjoy?

> _He’s in a grand looking room. The light from the window is a little too bright. He knows he’s not alone. There are other figures, but he can’t make out who they are. The light is completely washing away their features. Then voices started talking over themselves._
> 
> _“How much are they paying you?”_
> 
> _“Four million.”_
> 
> _“That’s more than any Queen deal.”_
> 
> _“You’ve just killed Queen.”_
> 
> _“Spread your wings and fly away.”_
> 
> _“One more word out of you and I’ll through you out of a window.”_

Brian grabs the side of his head.

“Stop! Stop! Please stop!”

Anger and fear and concern weave their way through his nerves and tears spring to his eyes.

He doesn’t worry about waking Roger. Mary phoned a few hours earlier to say that all three of his bandmates had stumbled into her apartment wasted off their rocks. It doesn’t stop him from desperately wishing that Roger was here. The dream made less sense than all the others, even though there was more to see.

He knew all the voices. His was even included. Brian doesn’t know what they were talking about beyond it was Queen and they were arguing about a record deal? Roger would say that his subconscious is just projecting real life events and worries into a dream. Brian doesn’t know enough to disagree, but they all feel real. As though he’s lived the events before.

It’s not possible. Either way, he won’t be going to sleep again any time soon. He’s too jittery to try and he fears he’ll have another dream like that if he tries. One is more than enough. Maybe he should talk to someone about them? Brian shakes his head. They’re just dreams, and far between at that.

Instead, he hauls himself up and into the kitchen. He begins prepping ingredients for breakfast, half wondering if the others are going to wander in. It’s half past five in the morning so he doubts it. With a little more indulgence than he would allow himself if his housemates were in the flat, he makes his way to the record player in the living room and tosses on a Hendrix album.

Once at the proper volume, he prepares himself some of the blueberry tea Roger brought home last week that only he likes to drink. It isn’t terrible, Brian just thinks that it’s the smell that puts everyone off it.

He manages about half his breakfast before exhaustion crashes over him again. It makes his stomach twist and he feels sick. Quickly he cleans up the kitchen, leaving a pile of dishes to soak in the sink and stumbles his way to the couch. Brian barely lays down before he’s asleep again.

Something is poking his cheek. Brian grumbles and bats at the offending object. It pokes him again, higher this time. He opens his eyes to see the red-rimmed blue eyes of his partner.

Despite his annoyance of being woken up, he still smiles, “hi.”

“Hi,” Roger’s hand digs into his hair.

“What time is it?”

“Sometime past eleven?”

So, he’s slept for six hours then. Twelve hours overall. Huh. That’s odd for him.

“Why are you on the couch?”

“Woke up early, and then crashed here.”

Roger removes his hand but pulls a curl taught only to watch it spring back, “any particular reason why?”

Brian wants to say it was another one of those weird dreams, but another part of him thinks that Roger is going to start worrying about the frequency of them. In the distance, he can hear Freddie rummaging around the kitchen, he knows it’s Freddie because he can hear him singing.

“John back?”

“Yeah, he outdrank both Freddie and me, so he went straight to his room again.”

He winces. Brian doesn’t think he can put away half of what Roger does before blacking out. John must be miserable. He’ll buy ginger ale at the store. Roger gives him a pointed look.

“No, I just woke up and made breakfast. Then crashed here.”

“Brian,” Roger says sternly, “I know you. You don’t just wake up for no reason. Was it another one of those weird dreams of yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Bad?”

“Aren’t they all?”

Roger shrugs, “want to talk about this one?”

Brian thinks about the anger and bitterness in this last dream. _You just killed Queen._ It makes his skin crawl unpleasantly to even think about it. He hopes that this won’t happen to them. They’re too much of a family to break up.

“Not particularly.”

Roger hums and kneads his fingers into Brian’s shoulder muscle, “well, I’m going to drink some more water and head back up to bed if you want to join me.”

He pushes up to steal a kiss from Roger, “never heard a better idea.”

* * *

Brian leans back in his seat to observe John Reid. He looks like an average businessman, the type that has no business in dealing with rock stars. Although, that might be a good thing because it might mean that he knows how to do bussinessy things. They may have an engineer, biology, astrophysics and a designer in the band, but none of them can budget.

At least they don’t, if he judges by the fact all they had in the flat for a week was sauce until they were able to cobble enough coins together to get cheese, meat, and bread.

“So, this is Queen!” Mr. Reid said, “and you must be Freddie Mercury. You’ve got a gift. You all have.”

Brian’s glad that other people can see it. Not that he doubts Freddie’s talent or the talent of the others. Still, it’s nice to hear it from someone who can get them places.

“So, tell me, what makes Queen any different from all of the other wannabe rock stars I meet?”

He turns his head and waits for Freddie to answer. Brian has his own list of answers, but he knows that Freddie has a better way with people.

“I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Reid,” Freddie leans forward, “we’re four misfits, who don’t belong together, playing other misfits, you know the outcasts right in the back of the room who are pretty sure they don’t belong either. We belong to them.”

Brian also wants to interject with musical facts. He has a guitar that no one else has, Roger and Freddie both have vocal ranges that are ridiculous, and John has an amp that he built from spare parts just for their shows. They’re all talented musicians and lyricists. One look at John Reid tells him he doesn’t have to worry about him knowing their talent. Mr. Reid just wanted to know their MO as a band.

“We’re a family,” he settles with.

Roger nods, “but no two of us are the same.”

John Reid leans back and eyes them. Brian feels as though he’s a student sent to the principal’s office. A cup of tea is set in front of him. Brian follows the arm to another man.

The other man, behind Reid. Brian dislikes him almost instantly. He pauses, dislike seems too mild of a word to describe the feeling crawling in his stomach. There’s nothing about the man that Brian figures should be making alarm bells ring. He _loathes_ this man for some unknown reason. Brian keeps the scowl off his face because that’ll be the last thing that lands them this deal. Roger and John both look politely interested in the introductions.

 “Paul,” Mr. Reid says, “Paul Prenter, meet Queen. Out new signing. Paul will manage the day-to-day.”

Brian wants to gag at the thought of dealing with the man any longer than he must. Maybe it’s the obviously dyed blond hair? Or he just has a face you want to punch? The name just makes him feel gross. He’d think this is another one of his dreams, but he knows for a fact that he is very much awake.

Mr. Reid is already talking strategy, “if I can get you on the radio, then maybe I can get you on television.”

Roger perks up, “Top of the Pops?”

“Hopefully.”

John pales at the thought whereas Roger grins. Brian glances at Freddie who is impossible to read. It’s exciting though, the thought that they’re doing this.

“And then?” Freddie asks simply.

“And then? It’s only the biggest television program in the country. No ones even heard of you!”

Brian shrugs when Roger shoots him a look of indignation. They might have sold out pubs, but those crowds are anywhere from fifty to a hundred and fifty, and it’s even less when they consider the thirty some people who have started calling themselves Queen groupies who make it to almost every show. It’s a fair statement no matter how much it stings.

Freddie remains neutral.

“Look, I admire your enthusiasm,” Mr. Reid says, “if it goes well- if it _happens_ at all I’ve got a promotional tour in Japan in mind.”

“We’ll want more.”

Brian wonders what Freddie’s game is. They’ve been offered every chance to make it big on a silver platter. They can do it from what they’re offered here, but as usual, he’s content to see what Freddie’s plan is. He’ll step in if it gets too extreme.

“Every band wants more,” Mr. Reid says.

“Every band isn’t Queen,” John speaks up for the first time.

He’s hit the nail on the head with that statement.

Mr. Reid laughs, “maybe so.”

* * *

“A tour, Brian? Can you imagine!” Roger twirls around in the entryway, “Top of the Pops!”

Brian chuckles, “I know. I was at the meeting too.”

“I can’t believe it, Brian we’re doing it!”

Roger pulls him into a hug. Brian gladly returns it and lifts Roger’s chin up after a second to press a kiss on his lips.

“Believe it, love,” Brian says after a second.

Roger beams and goes back up on his toes and places a chaste kiss. Brian grins and pins Roger’s hips to his. He’s not interested yet, he just wants to be close to Roger for right now. It appears Roger’s happy to go along with it, distractedly spinning curls on his finger.

“Hey, what’d you think of that Paul bloke?”

“Hm?” Roger tilts his head, “looks like a bit of a prick, but he doesn’t seem too bad.”

Brian frowns. So, it was just him.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Brian says honestly, “I think his demeanor put me off?”

“Yeah, he kept staring at Fred,” Roger shrugs, “but Freddie wants the attention and he got it.”

Brian keeps his thoughts to himself, but he really wonders if Paul is alright. Maybe Deaky had a similar vibe to him. He doubts it. Maybe the sleepless night is catching up with him. None of them could sleep last night, they were all too excited.

“We have the flat to ourselves,” Roger purrs, “at least until John’s finished with his shift.”

“That we do.”

“But I just want to sleep,” Roger yawns, “does that mean we’re getting old?”

“Hopefully not, we’ve just become rock stars.”

The statement gets the expected response. Roger brightens considerably.

“Best we catch up on sleep now!”

Brian rolls his eyes, “and what makes you think we’ll need to?”

Roger raises an eyebrow, “you have met Freddie and me, and now apparently John?”

“You’ve corrupted him,” Brian remarks with no heat.

“I think he’s just getting out of his shell,” Roger laughs, “he’s a surprisingly giddy drunk.”

“Wonderful, the three of you are going to be hanging off of each other.”

“I can’t help it if you’re the only one who’s a sad drunk.”

Brian snorts and tugs Roger up to their bedroom. Roger pushes him to the bed once they’re inside. He wiggles his way up Brian’s body but settles down with his head over Brian’s heart. Brian wraps one arm around Roger’s waist and tugs him closer. Roger responds by tossing one of his legs over Brian’s. They’re quiet and then Roger lets out a soft whine.

“What’s wrong dear?” Brian asks.

His eyes are dropping, and he can’t imagine what complaints Roger could have at this exact moment. He listens to Roger’s humming… he knows that song.

“I wanna hold your hand.”

“Are you really singing the Beatles right now?”

“Mm,” Roger stretches out his hand, “but still true.”

Brian pulls his other hand from behind his head and intertwines their fingers. Roger smiles against his chest. It’s warm, and now that Roger’s calmed down, he can’t keep his eyes open. He listens to Roger’s soft snores and sleep claims him.

* * *

Top of the Pops isn’t as spectacular as they thought it would be. John is thrilled to be given the chance to perform on such a large stage, but at the same time, he’s not a fan. This is larger than any performance they’ve had. This is their chance to make it big, and he’s worried he’s going to be the one to mess it up for the band.

Brian has such a technical knowledge of the guitar that he could play any of their songs in his sleep, not to mention a sort of gentle aura along with his rock star appearance. Roger flies through difficult rhythms while keeping time like a clock, not to mention he looks like he’s a Greek statue come to life. John can’t compare himself to Freddie in any way, the man who draws eyes to him and has a voice unlike any he’s heard before.

John, well, he knows he’s a good bass player, but he doesn’t have a look like Roger or an aura like Brian or isn’t carelessly bold like Freddie. It’s a fault he knows he has, and he’ll come up with something that sets him apart from the others. He also knows that he should get used to the idea of performing in front of thousands of people.

Hearing that they won’t be playing their instruments lets him breathe a little easier.

“That’s how we do it, old chap.  This is the BBC,” Brian mocks.

Roger snorts.

“Well, I’m relieved.”

Brian sends him a heated look, “you would be.”

“Perfect performance,” he shrugs as they walk off.

Once they’re gone, he sighs. He’s not sure when his nerves stopped being because he was trying to fit in with the rest of the band to butterflies in his stomach at the slightest bit of attention from any of them. It’s not done him any favors, making him a little more snappish than he otherwise would be at home. No one’s said anything though, so he figures he’s not been a complete tool.

It’s truly not worth the danger to the band, so he ignores it.

Freddie saunters back to him, “well, think we can manage not playing?”

“I’m not the one you have to worry about,” John shrugs as Roger reaches his drums.

“They’re not even real!” Roger picks up one of the cymbals.

“Roger,” Brian says softly.

_Thunk._ John winces at the noise the prop makes as Roger taps it. He can see the beginnings of the infamous Taylor anger. Brian steps away to his own guitar to unplug it from the amp, which started this entire mess. Freddie wanders back to Mary. Everyone else seems to have cleared the area out of fear of the impending meltdown. He sets his bass down on one of the speakers.

The cymbal comes flying towards him. He watches the arc look more like Frisbee than a musical instrument. Roger moves up to the drum set.

“We don’t have the money to trash it,” John says conversationally.

“Yeah well,” Roger flops down on the stool, “we don’t have to play it anyway.”

John leans forward, “we have to make it look good.”

“We look fine playing it!”

He must give him that, “it’s probably easier on their programming, sound systems can only handle so much.”

Not that he knows what kind of sound system they’re working with. He hasn’t gotten nosy enough to dig around. More than likely they’ll sound fine with the conversation from the stage to the television set, but Roger isn’t as versed in electronics.

“It’ll make the sound consistent. Think of what would happen if Freddie’s mic cuts out or either Brian’s or mine’s amps go.”

Roger huffs, “I still don’t like it.”

“It’s four minutes. We’ll be fine, and ideally more popular than when we started.”

“When you put it that way,” Roger looks up, “I guess I can bear with it.”

John can’t fight down the smile that forms at Roger’s grin. He does, however, manage to turn away fast enough that he’s sure the blond didn’t notice his flush. The floor director calls everyone to their places and John scrambles for his bass.

“Where’s Mr. Taylor’s other cymbal?” He asks.

Roger shrugs and John points to where he thought he saw the cymbal land earlier. The floor director heaves a long sigh and sends someone to retrieve it.

“Five minutes to film.”

* * *

There’s an ache along the lower part of his abdomen. Brian is sure it’s nothing and he wipes sweat from his brow. They’re waiting a few minutes before they go back out for the encore. John sips at something vaguely alcoholic next to him. He settles with water because he feels like he’s sweating more than normal.

“You all right there, Brian?”

Brian shakes his head, “yeah. I think the tour is finally catching up with me.”

“Maybe you should skip the after party then?” John drains the rest of his cup, “can’t do this without our guitarist.”

“Not the worst idea you’ve had.”

John gives him an unimpressed look.

A tech gestures them back to the stage. Freddie bounces out, blowing kisses to the crowd. Roger is next, twirling his drumstick with a carefully disinterested look. John two-steps out with his bass guitar slung around his neck. He’s hit with a hot flash and Brian closes his eyes against a sudden headache, but he manages to get out on the stage, much slower than the others, and a gentle bob of the head to the crowd. John shoots him a worried look, but the other two don’t seem to notice his state.

They ease through their two encore songs. Brian’s headache keeps him from being too showy in the solo, but still accurate. This time when they finish, Brian is the first off the stage, which alerts Roger to his state.

“Bri,” Roger grabs his arm, “you okay?”

“Exhausted,” Brian answers honestly, “I’m heading back to the hotel.”

“Want me to come with?”

“No, I’m just going to sleep.”

Roger tilts his head. Blue eyes scan his face before he nods, “okay. I’ll bunk with Fred or John, since I’ll be out late.”

“Go, have fun.”

“You’ll get ahold of me if you need anything?”

“If it's serious enough, I will,” Brian squeezes his shoulder, “don’t worry, you’ll get wrinkles.”

Roger nods and tilts his head towards Brian’s hand, “okay. Drink some water.”

He caresses the soft cheek.

“Already on it.”

He watches as Roger slips away into his own dressing room to change into less sweaty clothes. Brian hesitates but doesn’t feel like changing more than once. Freddie is already gone off to somewhere, but he does pass John once more. The bassist nods. He smiles tiredly and then rubs the at the ache in his stomach.

It’s possible he’s eaten something that doesn’t agree with him. Brian inclines his head to the driver when he enters the car, “our hotel, please.”

The drive, whereas they typically make him drowsy, only heightens the nausea he’s feeling. City lights blur and dig harder into his head. Brian leans against the window and relishes in the cool touch of glass. He’s starting to think that its something more than exhaustion. His mind flicks to appendicitis, but the ache he’s feeling is dull and not on the correct side of the body.  Roger would probably insist on him going to an A&E clinic.

They reach the hotel and Brian stumbles out. There are no reporters scoping out the hotel, which he’s grateful for. The last thing they need is the press saying that _Queen’s Guitarist Plays while Drunk_ since he was unsteady on his way to the lift it basically looks like he’s drunk. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes. Hopefully, he’ll be able to sleep this off.

Brian thinks the hallway to his and Roger’s shared room must’ve gotten longer since he left it this morning. Earlier he was grateful that neither John or Freddie are sharing with him and Rog, they were on the floor above with John Reid and Paul Prenter, but currently, he’s unsure he’ll make it to the room. Maybe he should worry more about this rapid decline of his health.

 Although… now that he’s thinking about it their lawyer, that they haven’t met, is meant to join them on this floor at some point. If he passes out in the hallway at least someone will find him, eventually. Not exactly what he wants to think about it, so he keeps shuffling forward and tugs the key out of his coat pocket, extremely surprised that he remembered to put it on because he certainly doesn’t remember doing so.

It takes him a shameful amount of time to unlock the door. He shuts it and leans against it. Brian sighs and keeps from just slumping down to the floor. _The bed will make you feel better. You’ve just got an odd case of food poisoning._ With that thought in mind, he starts tugging off his clothes. Roger isn’t there to fret about the lack of organization he’s displaying. Their night clothes are folded neatly on the bed and Brian decides just to pull on the flannel pants. Then a chill has him pulling on a long sleeve shirt.

_Water,_ his tired brain reminds him. He looks back at the bed, but his throat is scratchy and at least he won’t be disappointing Roger completely if he did one of the things requested of him. Brian shuffles into the bathroom and grabs one of the coffee mugs. The tap water doesn’t get cold, but he feels the tiniest bit better after drinking. He drains it, and then fills it up again and drains that one.

Feeling a little less like death, he decides that now is a good time to go to bed. Brian fills the mug once more and takes it with him. They don’t have any medication, and he makes a mental note to pack some during the next tour. The bed, which had been uncomfortably soft last night is the best thing he’s felt in his life.

* * *

Roger, as a person, is prone to emotional reactions. They usually have a logical reason, but he can’t shake the unease he feels. Brian hadn’t looked ill per se, but he hadn’t looked healthy either. He’s anxious enough to call it a night, but Freddie’s got an arm around his shoulder.

“He’s tired, Rog,” John says, “let him rest tonight.”

“Yes, darling, we can’t have people thinking Queen can’t keep up at their own parties.”

They’re both weak attempts to calm him down. It works for the most part. Brian wouldn’t lie to him about being sicker than he is. Roger shakes his head, _Brian isn’t sick._ If he says it enough times eventually, he’ll believe it. The reassurance doesn’t stop him from keeping himself mostly sober. After two glasses of wine he cuts himself off, and John and Freddie finish off any glasses he’s handed.

Turns out it was a good idea that one of them was sober because the other two were nearly passed out by the time the party starts to wrap up.

“Okay, time to go.”

Freddie whines but manages to pull himself into a standing position and sway in a mostly straight line to the front door. Roger glances down at John who looks like he’s very much in his own world. He sighs and grabs one very limp arm to wrap it around his shoulders.

“Up we go!”

He stumbles under John’s weight, but they manage to stay standing. John giggles deliriously.

“Did you drink an entire bottle of wine yourself?”

“Yes? Possibly,” John slurs, “drunk a lot of wine.”

Roger raises his eyes to heaven, “you should slow down mate, we can’t keep this up forever.”

John yawns, “was sad.”

“About what?”

He’s not answered right away, and Roger almost checks to see if John has passed out. Freddie is happily dancing in the yard now. _I’ll get him after I get John in a car._

“You.”

“Because I was worried about Brian? Thanks, mate.”

There’s a cab idling near the curb. Roger figures it’s for someone else but considering no one else seems to be leaving the venue, it’s his now. The driver doesn’t care when he opens the door.

“Can you wait a few minutes while I get my other friend?” Roger asks.

“It’s on your fare,” the voice is heavily accented.

“Whatever.”

John takes that moment to burst out into another hysterical fit of giggles and then tries to make a run for it, “Freddie!”

“Deeeeeeeaky,” Freddie calls.

Roger groans as he’s pushed on top of John and crushed under Freddie. It’s not worth the effort to try and get out to get into the front. Instead, he pushes John in further and shifts so they’re all mostly sitting and closes the door.

“Can you take us to the…” Roger pauses and realizes he blanked on the name of the hotel.

“You’re Queen? Staying downtown?”

“Yes!”

He realizes that probably wasn’t his brightest move of the night, but he’s cushioned between to very drunk men. _I’m entitled to some stupidity,_ Roger thinks a little moodily. More than likely he’d be in a similar state to John and Freddie if Brian had been around. It’s unfair, now that he thinks about it and decides that they should probably take turns being the designated sober(ish) one. John would probably go for it, Brian certainly would. Freddie might not, responsibility and the singer have a relationship as complicated as some of Freddie’s ballads.

It’s what makes the singer so spectacular. Brian once described Freddie as an ephemeral personality.

_“He’s like a star in some ways, the bigger they are the quicker they died.”_

_“Bri, please don’t tell me you’re psychoanalyzing Freddie at four in the morning.”_

_“Sorry, I was just thinking of my dream and it came to mind.”_

_“He wouldn’t want you to dwell on it, you know how he is.”_

_“I know. But God. Roger. He’s… what if”_

_“Our best friend, we’ll protect him if we need too.”_

Roger shakes his head, glad that he hadn’t had more to drink. He’s remembering the conversations he’s had after one of Brian’s weird nightmare things. On top of that, he’s stressed about Brian and worried about Freddie’s drinking habits. He shutters, he almost sounds as responsible as Brian.

They stop outside of the hotel twenty minutes later. Roger huffs. Freddie is happily humming _something_ Roger’s never heard before, it sounds good, and John has fallen asleep. The cab driver doesn’t take any pity on him until he tips generously, then he helps Freddie to find his feet on the sidewalk. Now that he doesn’t have ten stone of weight on his hips, Roger is easily able to slide out of the back seat.

Getting Deaky out is a completely different story. He’s practically become dead weight. Roger somehow manages, half tempted to draft Freddie into this, but they’re more likely to fall into the fountain outside of the hotel than to make it to their hotel room. Lesson two of the night learned, keep John from drinking… however much he drank. The doorman is little more help than the cab driver, but he at least holds open both doors for Roger.

“Why do they have a doorman working at this hour?” He asks no one.

“Because we’re rock stars, darling!”

Roger winces at the volume, “don’t need to yell to prove that.”

Freddie shushes him, “quiet!”

It wakes John up who agrees, “quiet.”

“I have to apologize to Brian for every single instance he’s dealt with all three of us.”

“Briiiiiiiiiiiiiian,” Deaky slurs, “you liiike him.”

“Course I do,” Roger rolls his eyes.

“And he liiiiiiikes you.”

Freddie gasps as if this was news to him.

_Why is this lift the slowest in the history of lifts?_

“You should kiss!”

“We do, you’ve seen it, Deak.”

The bubble of joy pops, “oh, right.”

The lift opens before Roger has any more time to dwell on the mood change. Freddie waltzes in and proceeds to attempt and close the doors before Roger can drag John in. He doesn’t remember what floor Freddie and Deaky’s room is on. Surprisingly Deaky does because he reaches out and presses one of the buttons (Roger hopes it’s the right floor.) He probably shouldn’t trust Deak’s judgement. Freddie decides that standing is too much and sits on the floor.

“I’ll leave you there.”

“You love me too much.”

Roger wonders if he really does. Although, they’ll be in trouble if someone kidnaps their singer or something weirder happens like he stays in place and that’s the first thing Brian sees tomorrow morning. It’ll be a good learning experience for everyone. Freddie should learn that he needs to be a neater drunk or not push Roger too far and Roger would finally be listened to because he followed up on his threat.

“What do you think, Deak? Should we leave him?”

“Bed,” John yawns.

He didn’t expect much of a coherent answer. Roger digs around in John’s pocket for the hotel room key. It’s thankfully in the front pocket, and he spares another thanks to John’s predictable reliability. Freddie’s is probably long gone and didn’t want to wake Brian up to let them in to their shared room considering that Brian is ill.

“Think I can sneak in without waking Brian?”

John sighs, “loud.”

“Yeah, he’s a light sleeper.”

The elevator door opens. Roger vaguely remembers that the room should be at the end of the hall. Paul’s room is close to the lift and Mr. Reid’s is somewhere in the middle. _Please don’t wake them._ Freddie doesn’t make any more loud declarations and John is barely conscious. He hauls John down the hallway and into the room with little issue.

Not sure where Freddie is, Roger tosses John onto one of the beds (the one that’s made) and heads back out to the hallway. Freddie isn’t in the lift anymore but it sort of looks like he’s pirouetting down the hallway. While hilarious, and Roger wants to know if there’s a security camera recording, looks incredibly dangerous in Freddie’s current state. He rushes to Freddie to grab an arm and manhandle Freddie into settling down.

A herculean task.

“Jesus Fred.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Stop squirming.”

“You were nicer to John.”

“John could barely be considered more than dead weight.”

“Brian is more fun.”

“Well,” Roger can’t compete with that statement. Hazy memories from his own drinking binges agree with that statement.

Brian’s mastered letting them have their drunken revelry with somehow keeping them all alive and getting into their beds at the end of the night. There wasn’t _herding your drunk friends 101_ was there? Astrophysicists don’t party right? Maybe they all got ridiculously high while staring at the stars. _Huh,_ that sounds kind of fun.

Ten minutes and Roger’s last nerve later, he’s gotten Freddie into the other bed. He’s exhausted, and even if he was planning to go back to his own room, he wouldn’t have made it. With a shrug, he tosses off his shoes which join Freddie’s and John’s in the middle of the room and lays gracelessly alongside John. Like hell, he’s sleeping on the floor after all of this. Freddie doesn’t like people in his space, and John will be too out of it tomorrow morning to complain.

Besides, he’s getting up early to check on Brian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. I wonder what's going on with Brian.  
> @sammyspreadyourwings


	4. And thunderous skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd we're back. This chapter when through a semi-major changed, which delayed something, but you'll probably figure out what. The plot does thicken, let's see who figures it out. With that, I'll let you get to reading!

Roger wakes up the moment that the sun hit his face. There’s a knee in his ribs and a hand across his face. He groans and rolls away from the limbs and winces at the throb it causes in his head. Memories start to rise to the front of his mind, and he pushes himself upright. His stomach reminds him that he’s starving.

Both Freddie and John look like they’ll be lost to the world for several more hours still. Roger gets to his feet and moves to the bathroom. He fills one of the paper cups on the counter with water and drinks at least three cups of it. The cottony feeling in his mouth vanishes. The lingering taste of morning breath remains, but his toothbrush is in his room and he doesn’t think either John or Freddie would appreciate him borrowing theirs.

He does, however, steal some of John’s mouthwash.

Roger drums his fingers on the counter and then decides to hop into the shower to give Brian a few more minutes to sleep if he has caught something. There’s a tugging sensation in his gut that tells him that it’s something else. The shower is unpleasantly cool, and he makes a mental note to complain to the person who booked the hotel. Surely, they could afford something a little fancier?

Most of his hangover symptoms have dulled into tolerable and he slips on last night’s clothes. Roger wishes he had the foresight to stash clean clothes in Freddie and John’s room, but then again, Brian had been feeling fine(ish) before the show. It’s part of the reason he’s so worried. The symptoms came on fast and hard, and they looked severe.

Freddie is still blissfully snoring into his pillow. Roger frowns when he doesn’t see John, but once he walks around John’s bed, he sees that the bassist had fallen out of bed. John was, somehow, still asleep. He snorts and wonders which John prefers more sleep or cheese toast.

Assured that his bandmates aren’t going to die in their sleep in the next forty minutes, he leaves the room. He neatly avoids running to Paul by taking the steps instead of the elevator. Ever since Brian expressed discomfort with the man Roger’s being seeing more things that explained why Brian didn’t like him. It’s a little surprising that Brian saw it before anyone else, he knows that Brian is a little unobservant when it comes to people.

Roger hits their floor and his heart speeds up like it usually does when he’s about to see Brian. A man is setting his room service tray outside of his room.

“You’re Roger Taylor, correct?”

He tries very hard to not roll his eyes, “that’s me.”

“I’m Jim Beach, Queen’s new lawyer.”

Roger takes his hand and shakes it, “pleasure. We’ll try to not cause too much trouble.”

The man gives him a skeptical look. Roger doesn’t think that they’ve done anything bad enough to warrant rumors about them. They’re just extravagant on stage.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your day.”

Roger offers a polite smile and then heads towards his room. He tests the door, frowning when he finds it unlocked. It works for him because he’s not entirely sure where his key went. The first thing he notices after shutting the door is that the room is quiet, Brian must still be asleep. When Brian is awake, he’s always making soft noises between mumbling to himself and humming. He pads quietly into the main room and spots Brian curled up on top of the sheets.

Alarm bells start ringing in his ears. Roger moves closer to the bed, and he can make out pained breathing. He forgoes being silent and rushes to the side of the bed. Brian’s face is screwed up in pain and a hand splayed over his stomach. Roger gaps at a sharp smell reaching his nose. He sees the trash can was moved to the side of the bed, and he puts the pieces together. Brian lets out a low groan and Roger reaches a hand over and smooths some of the sweat-sticky curls back. He hisses because of the heat from Brian’s skin.

Brian’s eyes flutter open, but they’re unfocused, but he seems to be aware that Roger is in the room with him. Strangled words leave Brian, but Roger stopped paying attention when he saw the tiniest ring of yellow at the edge of the eyes. He lifts the hand curled on the pillow and raises it to his eyes to get a clearer view. The very tips of the fingers are yellowed.

Roger’s heart hammers in his chest but his legs start to buckle. He gets himself to sit on the edge of the bed, and the jostling causes Brian to whine again, but it brings his eyes into focus.

“Hey, babe, what’s wrong?” Roger asks.

He’s very close to freaking out, but he doesn’t want to freak Brian out. Plus, Roger wants more information before he immediately jumps to the worse conclusion possible.

“Hurts,” Brian slurs.

Roger glances down to the finger and sees that it's not exactly over the stomach but offset to the side. The bandage Brian’s been wearing over a cut also has some seepage. He barely brushes against the arm, but Brian yells as though Roger had slapped it.

“Okay,” Roger murmurs, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Don’t leave,” Brian mumbles.

“Hush, love, I’m not. I’m just going to get some help, okay?”

Brian nods and screws his eyes shut again.

Roger stands and practically runs to Jim’s room, grateful for small miracles. He pounds on the door, getting more on edge the longer he’s away from Brian. After several seconds pass and Jim still hasn’t answered the door, he hits it harder and more rapidly. Just as he’s about to start a third round of knocking, Jim opens the door.

Jim’s eyebrow is arched, and he looks unimpressed, then he frowns.

“I don’t- Brian’s sick. Really sick. What do- I don’t know what-”

“Calm down,” Jim holds up a hand, “start from the beginning.”

Roger glares but takes an exaggerated breath, “I- Brian is really sick. I don’t know what the record company wants us to do in this situation, given that we’re in America.”

It’s the most Jim is going to get out of him. Roger starts rolling onto his toes and down again.

“I’ll make some calls, talk to Mr. Reid. Go stay with him.”

Roger nods and shoots off down the hallway. He figures that John and Freddie will be woken up at some point during all this chaos. Brian hasn’t moved from his spot. Frowning, he thinks of what he can do to help ease some of Brian’s pain. Another low groan spurs him to rush into the bathroom and wet a rag with cool water.

He pushes Brian’s mop of stringy curls to the side and rests the rag on Brian’s neck. Roger scratches Brian’s scalp lightly.

“Roger?” Brian whispers.

“I’m right here,” Roger whispers.

Brian gasps, and Roger making shushing noises. He hates that he can’t do anything about the pain, and he doubts he would want to in case it makes things worse. Instead, he replaces Brian’s hand over his abdomen and rubs with his thumb. He’s careful to keep his touch light. There’s a rigidity under Brian’s skin.

Roger keeps glancing at the door waiting for Jim to come back in, or anyone really. He has half a mind to damn the consequences and call the ambulance himself because Brian seems to be getting worse in front of him. His skin seems to be yellowing rapidly. There’s only one thing that can cause that. Roger bites his lip in worry.

Jim enters the room and stays back, “we have a car waiting downstairs.”

It isn’t ideal, but he’s sure that there will be less of a chance of the press catching wind of the story. Although Roger isn’t confident that Brian can make it that far.

“Bri, darling,” Roger mumbles, “we’re going to have to stand up.”

Brian shakes his head.

“I know, but we need to get you to the car so we can take you to the hospital.”

Roger stands and walks around the other side of the bed. He wraps both hands around Brian’s arms and gently tugs him upright. Brian yelps and tears fall from his eyes. It almost makes Roger drop him just to stop causing him pain. He knows its necessary, but he hates seeing Brian hurt more than anything. They halt halfway through and Brian grits his teeth. Brian gives him a nod. He pulls him up so that his legs dangle off the side of the bed.

Brian pants and doubles over. Roger is just about to ask Jim to help him drag Brian down to the waiting room when he hears another set of footsteps enter the room. He looks up to see John, it’s clear that the bassist is wearing the first clothes that he found and hadn’t spent any time on fixing his hair, instead he tugged it into a ponytail. John draws nearer. Roger can make out the clear worry in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not sure,” Roger replies, “help me get him down to a car so we can figure that out?”

John nods. Then he looks between Brian and him as if trying to figure out what is the plan is. Roger lifts Brian’s injured arm and wraps it around his shoulder. Brian cries out as he’s jostled. Less so when John copies his action. Between them they’re able to get Brian standing, which is good because Brian’s knees nearly give out the second, he’s upright. His face is twisted in agony. John’s face is filled with heartbreak. Roger understands that feeling all too well.

At least they keep Brian doubled over somewhat, he’s sure that’s easing some of the hurt. Slowly they make their way down the hallway. Freddie is standing by the elevator. Roger can’t see his face clearly but he’s sure it’s like the one John wore. The good news is that Freddie has kept the elevator on this floor, so they don’t have to wait for it. As soon as the doors close Freddie starts talking.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I can only guess,” Roger replies distractedly.

He raises his free hand and wipes away a bead of sweat. Brian leans into the touch and opens his eyes. Roger bites his cheek to keep from losing it in the elevator, Brian’s eyes are a mix of pain and pure love. It’s clear that he trusts Roger to make the best call for him. He drops his hand to rub at a spot underneath Brian’s eye.

It's hard to imagine what kind of choices he’ll be facing in the next few hours.

* * *

Roger doubles over, his head into his knees nearly mirroring Brian’s position from earlier. Blunt nails dig into the soft of his neck and a copper taste fills his mouth. He doesn’t want to leave Brian after being told his prognosis. Roger doesn’t trust himself not to break down, he needs another person with him.

The nurse is watching him with carefully sad eyes.

“Can you,” Roger swallows, “can you ask if we can have one more visitor?”

“I’m afraid it’s against hospital policy,” she replies.

“Please.”

Again, she looks at him and then sighs, “I’ll see what I can do.”

John comes into the room, Roger isn’t sure how much time has passed, but he practically launches himself at John. The force makes John stagger, but he quickly regains his footing. Roger buries himself into John’s shoulder. He’s trembling but he doesn’t cry. If he does start to cry, then there’s no hope of him getting his emotions under control.

“Rog,” John mumbles, “Roger.”

Roger tilts his head so that his cheek is smushed against John’s shoulder, “it’s not good.”

John brings a hand to rest between Roger’s shoulder. He doesn’t move it, and somehow that’s the best thing that he could have done. It’s the most stable he’s felt since this morning.

“It’s his liver.”

That’s not the surprise. Roger saw that coming when he saw yellow-tipped fingers. It’s still damnation. They don’t know what caused it, not that it matters because the treatment is the same. He can’t bring himself to say what is the surprise.

John brings him tighter against his chest. Roger inhales shakily.

“And they’re worried about his arm.”

Roger won’t bring himself to repeat what the doctors are calling it. They’re in America for god’s sake, _that_ shouldn’t be a problem.

“They might have to…”

John’s soft gasp of no is all Roger needs to know that John understands what’s at stake.

At some point, they break apart and pull up chairs. The nurse comes in and out several times. They’re trying to calm the inflammation before they attempt a surgery to clean the arm. Roger has a hand covering Brian’s, and a hand folded together with John’s.

The doctor comes in during the late afternoon, holding a chart. Thankfully he doesn’t comment on the handholding but focuses on the readout on the machines. He marks something down on the chart and then turns to Roger.

“His labs came back at a level we’re more confident in operating with,” the doctor (Roger doesn’t remember what he called himself and can’t see the name tag) says, “but they’re not exactly where I would like to see them at. Time is crucial.”

Roger nods. John’s fingers tighten around his.

“We’re going to debride the arm. If we get it all and there’s no spread, that will be the end of that and if we don’t then we’ll make the determination then.”

At least they didn’t say the word again. He hated the idea of it. John’s rigid hand lets him know that the other is in the same boat.

“When?” Roger squeaks out.

“OR is being prepped now, so we’ll take him up in thirty minutes. Providing there’s no change in his status between now and then.”

John’s head whips towards Roger. It's sooner than he thought it would be, but he’s grateful that the staff is working so quickly on Brian. He can’t bear the thought of losing Brian because of bureaucracy. He can’t bear the thought of losing Brian at all.

When they wheel Brian out Roger leans back in the chair and raises his eyes to the ceiling. He’s too exhausted to even be tense, the anxiety is biting its way through his stomach. His attention flicks to John who has somehow gone even paler in the minutes since Brian left. Roger doesn’t have it in him to comfort effectively, but its John, so he’ll _try._

“You alright mate?”

“I should be asking you that,” John says thinly.

It sounds like he’s about to be sick. Roger twists a little in the chair so he’s facing John directly. The harsh light of the hospital is doing nothing for John’s complexion, but perhaps more worryingly is how shaky John’s hands are. He reaches over to tug one hand towards him, John flexes in his group but otherwise doesn’t try to break free.

“He’ll be okay,” Roger says as much for himself as John.

“He’s strong. I’ve just never liked hospitals.”

While it may not be the most opportune time, Roger can’t stop his curiosity. John rarely shares details about himself, and when he does, they’re cryptic at best. Brian is going to be in surgery for at least an hour. Hell, it might even stop his mind from coming up with worst case scenarios. His stomach churns and reminds him that it probably wouldn’t happen, but at least it’d be a distraction.

“Why is that?”

John shrugs, “you’ll call it stupid.”

“I’ve hated things for plenty of dumb reasons, like Brian’s clogs.”

“Those are a perfectly reasonable thing to hate,” John mumbles.

“So, what’s the reason?” Roger asks again.

“When I was little,” John closes his eyes, “maybe eight or so, I had this terrible dream. I have it every few years, but in this dream, I was in a hospital. Everyone had a sort of veil over their faces. We were around an operating table, but not in the OR.”

Roger doesn’t feel like pointing out that probably meant they were in a morgue and not a hospital.

“Anyway, there were a lot of people around this table, and wailing from down the hallway. Horrid screams.”

John gives a full body shutter and Roger squeezes his hand in reassurance.

“I walked up to the table, even though I didn’t want to. It felt like I was older than the eight I was when I first had it. When I got to the table, it was a person, and again the face is veiled. Their skin, might have been a he, was pure yellow and he had very curly hair.”

No wonder John is distraught, Roger would hate that sort of dream. Nightmares are one of the few things he can’t deal with, it’s just the idea that your brain creates something to scare you.

“But my mum said I woke up sobbing, like really sobbing, and I’ve just always hated hospitals since. That and getting sick.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s just a dream.”

“Sounds like it bothers you a lot.”

“When I have it, yes, but most of the time I don’t think about it. Really don’t need to go into hospitals often and I don’t get sick.”

Roger nods. He shivers. Right now, he’d give anything to be wrapped in Brian’s arms. He looks over to John, and he thinks that Brian will understand. John notes the change in his expression.

“Roger?” John says when he notices the look.

“Can you,” he takes a deep breath, “do you think we can just…hold each other… at least until we have news from the operation.”

“I don’t think we’ll fit in this chair.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

“Fred’s going to pitch a fit that he got left out.”

“Still not a no,” Roger frowns, “where is Freddie anyway?”

John shrugs and shifts to a slightly more open position for Roger to slink into. Roger curls up, and they somehow manage a comfortable position. The chair groans in protest but makes no other rebellion.

“Freddie and Reid are arguing with the press and Mr. Beach is fighting with the record company,” John mumbles.

“Still?”

“They want Brian on a plane as soon as he’s stable enough to move.”

Roger shoots up, “any number of things can go wrong. If we move him, it may get worse.”

John shrugs, “I agree but this is on the labels dime.”

He does the math and decides that they wouldn’t be able to pay for the hospital bill Brian is sure to be wracking up. Roger grimaces, he doesn’t like it, but it sounds like they’re at the whims of EMI. John tugs him back down towards his chest. Tears burn in his eyes.

“I just want him to be okay.”

“I know,” John hushes, “so do I. So does Freddie.”

“He can’t die. He’s too young. I’m too young to be a widower.”

John stiffens, “Rog?”

Roger shrugs, “dunno, just. I don’t think I want to live my life without him. I could maybe love another if things went… bad… but if he walks away, I’ll be lost.”

“Brian isn’t going to leave you. Not when he knows how much this is hurting you.”

“He’s barely been awake.”

“And when has that stopped him from knowing something is off with you?”

John has a strangely keen point. Roger shivers again and tries to stop himself from backsliding into that dark place he was while they were waiting for news.

“I thought you didn’t like guitarists.”

“He’s grown on me,” John crinkles his nose, “kind of like a mushroom.”

“A fluffy mushroom, and you like mushrooms!”

“Got me there.”

They fall into silence. Despite the natural body heat, John gives off, Roger still feels cold. He’s sure that he won’t feel warm until he’s back in Brian’s arm. It’s good because at least he’s not alone. At some point, he’ll coax John into going with him back into the waiting room so that Freddie isn’t alone. Roger just needs a little longer to regroup and look a little human.

The last thing he wants is Brian waking up and fretting over Roger the second their eyes meet. It’ll happen anyway, but he might have a better chance of convincing Brian he’s fine if his eyes were puffy from tears and exhaustion.

They need to talk about John again. Only when he’s sure Brian isn’t going to slip away from him again and Roger gets over the clingy state that’s sure to follow.

* * *

They manage to survive in America. Naturally, the tour is canceled because Brian can barely stay awake for two hours, much less play a concert. John helps organize everything for them, so Roger can just focus on Brian healing. It also keeps John out of the crossfire because now Roger is competing with Freddie over Brian.

He gets it, Freddie was kept out of the room (not by Roger’s choice, but kept out nonetheless), and was also out of the loop. Had things gone a different way Freddie would have been the last to know.

But once Brian is safely in their flat, things start calming down. Roger doesn’t feel like he has a brand in the middle of his chest and Freddie has more range to come over and fret.

“You’re working yourself to exhaustion,” Freddie murmurs.

“Can’t help it. If I’m not doing anything, I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Freddie presses a kiss to his hair, “I’m here, John’s here. Brian is getting better, not everything is on your shoulders.”

“I know Freddie. Thank God that you are.”

Brian shifts and groans in his sleep. Roger straightens and leans up over the guitarist, while Freddie tucks himself further in the corner of the bed in case, they need space. It’s just the position, Brian rolled onto his stitches and one of them got caught in his t-shirt. Roger carefully detangles them and checks them for integrity.

“We’re lucky you love drumming more than you love helping people,” Freddie chuckles, you would have made an excellent nurse.”

Roger swats at him, “only for Brian. Maybe you or Deaky.”

“I’m on the same level as Brian? I’m honored.”

He leans away from Brian, who is squirming at the volume and back to Freddie’s chest. Freddie hugs him and starts humming a strange tune. Roger tilts his head trying to recall what song it belongs to.

“We haven’t written it yet,” Freddie says.

“Oh.”

“I think we’ll put on our next album.”

“Freddie,” Roger complains, “how can you already be planning our next album?”

“ _Because_ it’s going to be our best one yet.”

Roger turns around, “you sound sure of it.”

“You know that melody? The one I’m always playing?”

“Yes?”

“I think I have the song to go with it.”

“Yeah?” He grins.

“We should also go to the country to record.”

“I think you’ve heard the fresh air cures everything wife’s tale too many times.”  
Freddie waves his hand in the air. Roger thinks it’s the end of the conversation and he switches his gaze to where Brian is sleeping peacefully.

“Worth a shot, no?”

Roger nods. Hell, he’d mix lilacs in Brian’s tea if the doctors said it was going to heal him. If a little fresh air can make Brian feel better, who is he to say no?

“We have to wait until he can stand on his own, for longer than ten minutes. Enough to record a solo at least.”

Freddie pulls him back. He didn’t realize that he sat up. He nuzzles into Freddie’s neck.

“Calm down Roger, you’re worse than a cat with her first litter. I’m one of the last people that would push Brian before he’s ready.”

“And Brian’s one of the first people,” he snorts.

They chuckle, but unfortunately, their noise wakes Brian up. He turns over, with a disgruntled frown, but his eyes remain fully closed. Roger slides down towards him and reaches a hand out to grab one of Brian’s. He presses a kiss to the palm.

“Hush,” Brian slurs.

“Sorry, love.”

“Yes, sorry darling.”

Brian cracks open an eye minutely, “Freddie, lay down. Sleep.”

“Of course.”

The jostling puts Roger in between Brian and Freddie. He’s not complaining, it means he has a body to cuddle and a Brian to stare at. What could possibly be better?

* * *

Brian wanders out to the barn. He’s got an incessant melody in the back of his head that he wants to coax out with his guitar. It should be private enough he can work it out, and it might be something if he can get it to play.

At least he doesn’t have to deal with Roger’s snoring any longer. They’re all exhausted after pulling long hours yesterday trying to determine how they’re going to build this album considering its really their last chance before they’ll be written off as another couple hit wonder. Melodic piano notes reach his ears.

Soon they’re joined by Freddie’s voice, raw with emotion. Brian hesitates outside of the door listening to the song. He hates eavesdropping, but this song is new. And very good. Especially if Freddie sings it like that on the record. It’ll be a hit. The words are indistinct, but Brian doesn’t really need them now.

When the song ends, the clapping surprises him. Had Freddie been singing to someone? Not Roger, and Deaky had been passed out on the couch. Logic dictates that it was the only other person on the farm with them, and Brian has a sudden twist in his stomach.

He still doesn’t trust Paul Prenter.

Brian pushes open the door loudly and hums whichever tune of his comes to mind first. Piano keys whine out as Freddie presses his hand against them and pushes away from where Paul was hovering over him. He lets out a small sigh, apparently, he had stopped something. A small part of him thinks that it might be a little selfish for doing so, but he knows that Freddie can do so much better than Paul Prenter. Roger and Deaky would agree with him on that.

“Brian! Didn’t expect you up so early!” Paul says.

It sounds friendly, but even Brian can hear the note of distaste.

“Couldn’t sleep, I’ve got this melody in my head I want to get out.”

Freddie perks up, “well, let’s see if we can’t tease it out of that crowded hard of yours.”

Brian smiles, “sure thing.”

Paul scowls and opens his mouth.

“Would you mind starting breakfast, that’s the only way you’re going to wake that pair up.”

“Of course, Freddie.”

He tries not to preen, but only manages to not make it obvious.

“So, what’s this melody of yours?”

“Got a bit of a western middle ages feel to it.”

Freddie perks up as he grabs the acoustic, “not Red Special worthy?”

“Not yet.”

Then he starts strumming and the rest of the world falls away.

* * *

Brian doesn’t know who suggested the idea. He’s certain that it was Roger considering the only other person playing was John. Freddie had originally agreed to it, but as soon as he sat down, he bolted towards the piano screaming something about that’s it. Used to Freddie by now they simply rearrange themselves, so they aren’t as crowded.

Piano playing tickles into the room, but not so loud that it’s distracting. Brian watches Roger bob his head to it. They’re meant to be taking a break from the album, so Brian ramps up his enthusiasm for the game.

“Truth or Dare right?”

“Yeah,” Roger shakes his head a little, “you get three passes for dares.”

“Surprisingly reasonable coming from you,” John remarks.

“I don’t trust you,” Roger says.

John simply raises an eyebrow and Brian finds himself agreeing with Roger. They decide that John should spin first because he’s the youngest. Roger considers it strategic so they can get a read on how dastardly he’s going to play. The bottle spins four times before landing near enough to Brian.

“Truth or dare, Brian?”

“Truth.”

“Hm,” John taps the floor, “how did you lose your virginity?”

Brian chokes on his drink, which means John timed it. Meanwhile, Roger’s already fallen over as though this is the funniest thing he’s ever seen or heard. It’s not surprising considering Roger already has three to their one drink. John watches on sedately.

“I have no clue why Freddie thought that you were innocent,” Brian murmurs.

“So?”

He leans back on his heels and thinks about it, “I was in the sixth form, it was with a girl in my literature period and she put on a Hollies album.”

“That’s so dull!” Roger cackles.

Brian narrows his eyes and spins. To his great pleasure, it lands on Roger, who stops laughing enough to focus.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Roger smirks.

“I dare you to tell us how you lost _your_ virginity.”

Roger looks properly scandalized and looks to John for help.

“We didn’t say you couldn’t do that.”

“It’s not right!”

“Are you going to use a pass?”

Roger pouts, “no, but this is a moral crime.”

Brian waves his hand, “sure, sure.”

“It was with a girl in uni when I was still in lower 6th,” he sends Brian a smug grin at that, “and we did it in the theater bathrooms.”

“Romantic,” John shrugs.

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

Brian rolls his eyes. Roger has only gotten the hang of being romantic in the past four years or so, between their constant relationship and Freddie’s continued whines that he should really do something nice for Brian. It makes him giddy, but he keeps the grin down because Roger might get embarrassed.

The game continues in a much similar fashion over the next three hours. They’re all feeling lazy so they mostly pick truth, so they don’t have to get up. Slowly they drain the house of alcohol, and Brian makes a vague note that this is probably the most he’s heard John talk about himself in a while. If ever. He could be closed lipped when he wanted to be.

Roger sways dangerously, and Brian wraps around him and brings him into his side. John’s eyes flash with sadness, and Brian is too drunk to really understand why. It’s Roger’s turn anyway. The bottle spins and lands on John.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Brian perks up, it’s probably the eighth dare of the night. Roger leans forward with a Cheshire grin.

“I dare you to,” Roger draws out the word, “kiss whichever us of us you find more attractive.”

John’s eyes good wide, and Roger folds into laughter at the look. Brian smacks him because that was a rude thing to do.

“Shut up you three! I’m trying to actually work!”

“Fred is right, early morning and all that. Good night!”

John practically runs down the steps. Roger follows him with his eyes a little heartbroken. Brian rubs his back.

“Was it something I did?”

“You shouldn’t play with people’s emotions like that, ours or his.”

“We don’t even know if he likes us like that.”  
“Then should you really be daring it?”

Roger slumps into his side. Brian rests his cheek on top of Roger’s cheek, and to neither of their surprises they end up falling asleep like that.

* * *

> _It’s a massive crowd. Freddie works it as good as he always has. Better even. His fingers fly over Red Special in chords he doesn’t remember putting together. John’s hair is fluffy and cut short. So is Roger’s. And Freddie’s?_
> 
> _Freddie spins and sings and flirts. He glances over to John, who is bouncing in place with a look of pure adoration on his face. Brian is sure that his face is the same and mirrored on Roger's._

Brian sits up. The dream is unsettling, but unlike the others of its ilk, in a way that seems just familiar and not painful. Roger is still asleep next to him, half hanging off the bed. He slowly gets up and moves to his notebook. While the dream is nothing short of confusing, it’s still given him some inspiration to work on his Space Song as Roger has taken to calling it.

Gaps in the page indicate where he needs lyrics. There’s only a few, at the start of the chorus and carefully he prints them. He spends a few minutes tightening up the rest of the song and waiting for the right melody to fall in place. Maybe he could convince John to play the double bass, it’d give the song a certain sort of richness.

Roger rolls around on the bed, and Brian looks up as the hand comes down where he was sleeping. A confused noise reaches his ears, and he watches as Roger slowly wakes up. He wiggles around on the bed and then sits up. Their eyes meet.

“Come back,” Roger’s voice is raspy with sleep.

“I will in a moment love, just working on something.”

Roger slides out of bed and wanders towards him rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand. Brian lifts his notebook up as Roger worms his way into Brian’s lap. Once comfortable, Roger looks back down at the paper.

“Space Song?” He slurs.

“Mm, don’t fall asleep on me.”

“You should’ve come back to bed, now you’re trapped.”

“Whatever will I do?”

“Sing the song to me?” Roger nuzzles into his collar, “the words make it look pretty.”

Brian pauses and thinks of what rhythm he wants to use and the softly begins to sing.

“In the year of ’39 assembled here the volunteers.”

He sings to Roger until the song reaches its end, and then at Roger’s sleepy encouragement he sings Some Day One Day, until both drift off into a joined dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Not as much angst as y'all were probably expecting, considering it's me, but hey! That might be a good thing. The next chapter picks up pretty much within this same week. Like I said, I needed to change some things and get chapter 5 to flow better because there was just a weird and abrupt ending the way I had it originally planned.


	5. Guide to their happy moor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey. It's been a hot minute since I updated this, but well, she's updating. Chapter 6 is being finicky so probably another decent break between updates. Oh, and you'll notice the tags have changed!

John invites them into his room after dinner.

“We never got to finish our game.”

“There’s no finishing Truth or Dare,” Roger shrugs.

They still end up in John’s room with several freshly bought bottles of beer. He’s sure Paul isn’t going to be happy, considering it's going to be the third time that he’ll have to go into town for just booze. Brian tilts his head briefly, at least it keeps him away from Freddie.

“Fred, are you coming?” He calls up the stairs.

“No, darlings, have fun! I’m nearly done with my project.”

Ah, the thing Freddie swears is going to be their magnum opus. Content in knowing that they aren’t leaving Freddie out by neglect he crosses his legs on John’s bed. John seems a little nervous, which Brian doesn’t blame him considering the note that they left off on the last time they played this game.

Also, Roger is still winding down from his tantrum about the car song from this morning. They let Roger start. Brian sees the idea turning in Roger’s head and the look he sends towards John. He knows that this is the night that they see if their idea is plausible. Hopefully, it doesn’t kill the band in the process.

The sound of the bottle turning is ominously loud. Brian swallows, and as though the universe cursed them, it lands on John.

“Truth or dare?”

John licks his lips. They’re not as nearly as drunk as last time and Brian suddenly wishes they were. It’d be easier to sweep up if they could cover it under the haze of drunkenness.

“Dare.”

Brian frantically looks at Roger.

“Okay, since you never finished the dare. I dare you to kiss whichever one of us you find more attractive.”

John looks between them for a moment, “and what if I think it’s equal?”

Had they spoken about this before? Brian knows he and Roger had; be he didn’t think that Roger had taken the initiative.

“I guess that means you have to kiss both of us,” Roger grins.

Brian isn’t completely sure what’s happening, or if it's even real, but he’s not going to stop John from crawling across the bed towards him. John stops and then gently brings his hands to cup both sides of his face. Nothing happens, and then Brian nods permission. Then John is leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. It barely lasts a heartbeat

“Oh, kiss him like you mean it!”

John takes the advice to heart; the lips are back on Brian’s and this time the kiss is heavier. He lets his mouth open for John’s exploration. It's different than kissing Roger because with Roger it’s a balance of equality, more of a give and take. With John, he eagerly lets John dominate the kiss. Brian likes it. More than he should.

He gets pushed back so that he’s lying down. John breaks the kiss. Brian dazedly realizes that Roger has moved so that he’s sitting on the bed now. John is kissing him now. It’s incredibly hot. Brian gets Roger’s kink for the first time.

When John breaks the kiss all three of them are breathing heavily creating a sort of echo chamber in the room.

“We might be doing this backward,” Roger pants and glances to Brian.

He nods.

“But we were wondering if you’d like to join us?”

John backs away and Brian’s heart sinks.

“I can’t just do sex with you two. I want it, I do, but it’d hurt too much just to be that.”

Brian raises to his elbows, “we aren’t just making this a one-time deal, we wouldn’t do that to you, or us.”

“Wait?”

“We’re officially asking us if you want to join our relationship.”

John looks between them as if looking for the joke. Brian sits up and leans over to kiss John on the lips again, and John returning it is enough of an answer, but it’d be good to hear it out loud.

“Well?”

“Yes,” John breathes.

He leans over to Roger and steals a kiss. Roger pulls away after a minute tugging John’s lip between his teeth.

“Can we, are we really doing this?” John asks.

“Only if you want,” Roger murmurs.

He looks between them, “I don’t think that I can fuck the both of you.”

Brian’s eyes roll back in pleasure at the words. Roger’s shiver doesn’t escape notice.

“Don’t worry about that,” Roger quirks his lips in a cheeky grin, “I’ll manage just fine watching you ruin Bri.”

A groan is pulled from his lungs. He sees the spark of interest in John’s eyes. Brian flails around with his hands, he’s not sure how he needs to act to make sure John stays interested. With Roger, it is a given. John leans down and hot breath ghosts past his ears.

“Never would’ve taken you to be the submissive one.”

Brian whines and tilts his hips. He’s half hard but if that’s how John is going to keep talking then he’s not going to last long. It is less of the words and more of the tone. John’s voice has never been that low before. Roger sneaks a kiss as he shifts around on the bed, giving John space and himself a better vantage point.

Things start turning a little awkward now that John sees Roger with his hands down his pants. John looks a little lost, Brian nearly calls it off to give John more time to think it through. As much as he wants this, John’s comfort comes first. He doesn’t want this to be a mistake.

“Come on, John,” Roger says, “mark him, make him yours too.”

Brian’s brain short circuits at the words, but apparently John’s is still functional. He leans down and finds a clean space of neck (Roger had been busy last night) and sucks. It feels nice, but it’s not enough.

“He likes when you get rough,” Roger chimes.

Normally he’d hate being talked over, but in this circumstance, he finds he likes it. John looks towards Roger than up at Brian. There’s a question in John’s eyes and Brian nods. He closes his eyes when John moves back to his chosen spot, and this time he bites. Brian’s hips jump up, he rubs against John’s groin which causes the younger man to moan.

A hand sneaks under his shirt, and nails scrape lightly against his side. Brian squirms, his pants getting uncomfortably tight now. One of his own hands starts trailing towards the hem of his pants. John catches it and delivers a quick bite to the palm, Brian’s eyes roll back because that’s new, and then pins it about Brian’s head. His other hand raises automatically. John leans back.

Roger had apparently noticed something because he’s moving away from the foot of the bed and towards him. Brian watches him lazily because John’s stopped touching him to take off his shirt. Although, he does make it a challenge for John, bucking his hips up sporadically to make his annoyance known. His hand is grabbed by Roger, who then places another bite to the palm.

“Ah,” Brian gasps.

“Oh, that’s new.”

He snorts because he had just thought the same thing. John tosses his shirt to the side and his hands drift towards the bottom of Brian’s.

“May I?”

“What a gentleman,” Roger laughs, “but hopefully not for long.”

“Go ahead,” Brian pants.

This is ridiculous. They haven’t done anything yet.

John strips him quickly, and whistles, “are you sure you sleep with Roger and not a wild animal?”

“He doesn’t complain much,” Roger finishes the statement with a bite to his wrist.

Brian whines.

Now shirtless, John seems to be gaining more confidence. He meets Brian’s lips in another messy kiss. Brian raises his hands to John’s hair, as a test, and he’s happy to see that John growls and pushes them back down and pins them. Roger looks more than thrilled.

“He’s going to keep you in your place,” Roger sing-songs just loud enough for John to hear.

John looks up at them, his grip tightening minutely. There’s a slight warning in that.

“Stay.”

The order makes him shiver and his mouth opens, he moans softly. Roger takes the opportunity to give him an open-mouthed kiss. Mostly they just breathe into each other’s mouth, but it wasn’t any less hot. John gently grabs Roger’s hair and tugs, Roger goes willingly. Once more they’re kissing over Brian.

He shifts on the bed and tries to get friction from John’s thigh. John drops Roger’s hair and his hand goes to Brian’s hip and flattens him back out.

“Damn, so needy.”

Brian groans, “can you blame me? I’m under you and you aren’t doing anything at all.”

“Mouthy too.”

Roger snickers.

It does manage to get John’s attention back to him, so he counts it as a win and keeps his mouth shut. John leans down and bites his shoulder in a sort of punishment, it’s harder than the previous one and the sensation goes straight to his dick. John’s hands leave his wrists, but Roger holds them down and to the fly of his jeans.

“You’ve been good,” John purrs, “so let’s make you more comfortable.”

John wastes no time in pulling down his pants or briefs, which Brian approves of because he’s used to Roger taking his sweet time. He’s officially the only one naked, and he loves it. Roger’s free hand has gone back to the inside of his pants. Brian considers his angle for a second and leans over and after a few fumbling attempts manages to pop the button with his teeth. He doesn’t think he has enough maneuverability to get the zipper all the way down.

Roger’s mouth has turned up to ten, “fuck Bri. You have no idea how hot that was.”

He smirks and lays back down, unsurprised to hear a zipper following shortly. A bottle of lube hits Roger in the chest before falling softly on the bed. Brian glances back to John who is tossing off his pants.

“You’re going to need that,” Brian chirps.

John delivers a soft slap against his thigh. Brian restrains himself from rolling his eyes because it’s not nearly hard enough to do anything for him. He leans back and closes his eyes when John starts biting down his thigh. Roger’s slicked finger taps his cheek.

“Watch,” Roger says softly.

He opens his eyes again to see John catch the lube. Brian cocks an eyebrow. John leans down and sucks a mark on his hip before leaning back and making a show of slicking his fingers. He laughs. Roger moans.

“Okay?”

“Hm, yeah.”

John also looks to Roger, “I’m going to die if you take any longer.”

Brian knocks a hand against Roger’s stomach, “let him set the pace.”

“Says you, the one taking it.”

He grabs Roger’s dick and twists softly. Roger lets out a surprised shout that cuts off into a moan. The angle is awkward for his wrist, but he can’t get enough of Rogers sounds. John inserts the first finger. His are longer than Roger’s, and it feels odd. Brian sneaks a glance at John’s face who looks more confused than anything.

“Wait, have you never done it with a bloke?” Brian asks.

“Shit,” Roger pants, “that’s a thought.”

“Only blowjobs.”

Roger’s hand tightens against Brian’s wrist, “giving or receiving?”

Brian can’t help but be curious as well.

“Both.”

This time Brian moans along with Roger. He grins wickedly.

“You should walk him through it, Rog.”

Roger leans down and kisses him on the lips, “ _that_ is a fantastic idea babe.”

John looks between them. Roger crawls over to where John is and kisses him as well. Brian enjoys the new view of Roger’s pants being partially undone and his dick red and straining against his stomach.  Brian spreads his legs a little wider which encourages twin moans from both Roger and John.

“He’s probably loose from last night,” Roger wiggles his eyebrows, “but you can move and get a feel for things. See if you can find his prostate.”

John furrows his brows, and it’s endearing. His tongue sticks out between his teeth. Roger leans up and places a kiss on John’s cheek, his hand firmly wrapped around his dick. A long moan tears itself from Brian’s throat when John finally finds what he’s been searching for. His legs involuntarily open wider.

“Add a second one.”

The second one gives a little burn. It’s a nice counterpoint to the fuzziness filling his head as John continually presses against his spot. Brian is a mess by the time he feels the third being added.

“Fuck, Bri,” Roger whispers, “you make quite a sight. Doesn’t he John?”

“He does. All spread out for me. He’d probably let you fuck him too.”

Brian’s eyes fly open in surprise as he instinctively seeks something to fill him better. The idea is nice (and a correct statement), but the fact that it came from _John._ He moans and tosses his head to the side. Roger is staring at him wide-eyed.

“Fuck,” Roger keens.

John spends a couple more minutes stretching him and then pulls out. Brian whines and tilts his hips upward. A familiar hand rests on his hips, and then he feels blunt nails dig slightly. He watches John fumble with the condom packet, but then Roger reaches over and opens it. Then he slides it on John’s dick. John lets out a low moan.

Brian wonders why it feels so intimate.

John places the blunt head against his hole and pauses. He frowns.

“John?”

“I just, are you sure?”

“Little late to stop now,” Roger says cheekily.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

John still hesitates. Brian lets out another low whine and then leans up to kiss John. He starts pushing John back and then when John finally overbalances Brian climbs on top of him.

“Oh fuck, Bri, that’s so hot. Shit,” Roger pants, “why don’t you ever do that to me?”

Brian chuckles at the whiney tone of Roger’s voice. He grabs John’s dick and guides it to his entrance before sinking all the way down. All three of their moans harmonize. John’s hands wrap around his hips in a bruising grip.

“Thought you liked being fucked,” John moans, his head thrown back in pleasure.

“I do, but you were taking too long,” Brian flutters his eyes, “poor Rog wasn’t going to make it to the main event.”

Roger smacks his ass.

Brian keens and rolls his hips. He feels John’s first shallow thrust, and when it doesn’t ache, he grins. The pace he sets his fast. John, like Roger, is good at finding the rhythm and soon they’re moving in time. Roger’s mouth is on his neck, biting and sucking. John’s hands switch from guiding his hips to stretching down his body. When John isn’t guiding him, Roger is. Brian loses himself to pleasure.

“Ah,” Roger hums next to his ear, but it sounds like it was said through cotton, “he’s gone.”

A hand wraps around his dick and starts stroking in time with John’s thrusts. He feels disconnected from his body as he comes. Words leave his throat with force, but he’s not sure what he said. Everything is kind of fuzzy. Brian blinks when he feels something soft on his back. John is above him. He’s still chasing his own completion.

“Fuck you’re just laying there and taking it,” John pants.

It doesn’t take long before John’s forehead is pressed against his shoulder and his rhythm breaks. Brian gets enough presence of mind to make a gesture for Roger to come nearer. A few clumsy strokes later, Rog is joining them in the post orgasm bliss. He lies there catching his breath and enjoying the sensation of feeling floaty. Someone is moving, and there’s a cloth on his stomach.

A few minutes later, Brian has recovered enough to be able to add something of substance to the conversation he’s been ignoring. He’s leaning against Roger’s chest, and John is sitting cross-legged in front of him.

“Welcome back,” Roger says as he plants a kiss on his cheek.

“Does that happen often?” John asks.

“He thought he broke you.”

“I just wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You did everything right.”

Brian blinks. His brain is still rebooting, and his partners are talking too fast.

“It was amazing.”

John smiles and tries to hide behind his hair.

“Really good,” Brian looks up at Roger, “you should try it sometime.”

John ducks further into his hair and Roger cackles. This. _This_ was a good call.

> * * *
> 
> _He’s in a… hallway. It looks like it goes on forever, only vanishing into the mist. He looks the other direction and the same thing. Finally, he looks forward. It’s a poster board. It’s filled with blank pages. He takes a step. The papers blow away leaving a single yellow flyer._
> 
> _ Smile _
> 
> _ Looking for drummer must play like Ginger Baker or… _
> 
> _He looks down at his watch. **No! Take the Flyer!** He glances back up at the flyer. **Yes, that’s it!** Then he starts walking down the hallway._

Roger sits up straight, the bottom of his palm pressing into his eye where a headache was forming. He looks next to him and feels surprised? No, he shouldn’t be. Brian and John fell asleep next to him after they had – yeah okay. The room starts to feel a little more real. Color starts leaking into his vision the longer he lets his eyes adjusts to darkness. His breathing starts to slow down.

The hell? He was crying? Roger swipes at his eyes and lets out a sharp breath.

Brian snuffles in his sleep and curls into John. Roger had been spooning Brian, and his sweaty hand tells him that he must’ve fallen asleep holding John’s. This isn’t new, it’s been this way since they started this tour. A sharp pang in his head urges him to get up. He stumbles towards the bathroom, grabbing a pair of joggers on the way. After closing the door he flicks on the light.

The light blinds him, but after a second, he’s able to keep his eyes open. Roger splashes cold water on his face. Slowly the pain behind his eye and the confusion lessens. He can feel the water chilling his fingertips and running down his face. The room has an end. His muscles move when he does.

“Fuck,” he drawls out, “I hate lucid dreaming.”

There’s too much adrenaline flowing through his blood. Roger tugs the joggers on. He shuts the lights off and wanders back into the main room once. A small smile forms at the sight of John and Brian searching for him in their sleep. Brian has turned away from John and taken up his spot, meanwhile John’s fingers twitch in confusion. Half the bed isn’t even being used. Roger frowns at their mess of stage wear. Brian’s going to be pissed in the morning, followed by a cranky John.

Roger pulls on a large sweatshirt, Brian’s, and grabs his wallet and room key before slipping on a pair of trainers.

The last of his cigarettes had been pilfered and thrown out by Brian. Roger meant to buy more in the morning, but there had to be a twenty-four-hour corner store nearby. Hopefully, it’ll work off his nerves.

What the hell had that dream been about anyway? He didn’t join smile. Roger snorts as if he wouldn’t knowing what he does now. Probably just a stress dream. Forgoing the elevator, he takes the stairs. Voices trail up from a few levels below, and he does his best to not disrupt the conversation. The gray stone of stairs and walls makes him shiver as his mind flits back to that dream.

He’s never going to eat whatever he ate again if it gives him dreams like that.

Roger takes the steps slowly. The conversation becomes decipherable, as do the speakers. It sounds like Paul… and Freddie? He picks up his pace and only stops when he reaches the landing above.

Paul has Freddie pushed against the wall. Roger bites his cheek and debates going out of this door and onto the elevator, but Brian’s discontent with Paul rings in his head. There must be a reason for instinctive mistrust. Besides, Freddie looks a little reluctant.

The worse he can do is send Roger away.

He vaguely thinks of Mary, it isn’t fair to her either.

Roger nods and then continues down the flight of steps. Paul jumps away from Freddie, and Freddie seems to shrink down. In shame? So, then Paul _had_ been pressuring him, or there was something else. Freddie was never ashamed.

“What are you doing up?”

Roger scowls at Paul because the man isn’t even trying to hide his disdain. He ignores the man and looks to Freddie.

“You good?”

Freddie bites his lip, “yeah. I am.”

“You sure?” Roger plasters an easy grin on his face, “because I was about to go to a corner store to buy some cigarettes. Brian threw out Deaky’s and my packs. Could use some company.”

“Will Brian ever give that up?” Freddie’s voice sounds less strained.

“Probably not until I actually quit.”

Freddie links arms with him and looks pointedly at Paul, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course, Freddie.”

Paul vanishes through the door. Roger tugs Freddie down the next flight of stairs.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m confused, but fine, dear.”

Roger wraps an arm around his shoulder. They embrace for a second before they hit the lobby. There’s no one there, but one can never discount a very dedicated pap. The clerk eyes them with surprise but otherwise doesn’t say anything. No one is on the streets either.

“Thank you, for the stairway,” Freddie says.

He jumps in surprise at the voice, “no problem. He wasn’t about to force you?”

“Of course not, it would have been willing, but I was confused about what I should do,” Freddie offers him a grin, “I guess you were my sign.”

Roger frowns. There’s something else bothering Freddie because Roger has never seen him smile like that before. They walk in silence to the nearest store, and Roger buys two packs, to make it look like he’s being considerate. Brian is going to flip when he finds them in his suitcase. Oh well. It’s a small price to pay.

Freddie starts to unwind the longer they’re away from the hotel and the longer they go without mention Paul.

“I know you three-” Freddie blurts, “never mind.”

He cocks his head, “what is Fred, you know you can talk to me about anything?”

“It’s dumb.”

“You call me that at least four times a day,” Roger chuckles.

Freddie offers a more genuine smile, “do you think that I can stay in your room tonight? I don’t have to be in the bed…”

Roger shrugs and ends up opening one of the packs. He offers one to Freddie who takes one. They light up a block away from the hotel.

“You can always stay with us, Freddie. We’re family, yeah?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t want to intrude.”

“Never,” Roger snorts, “and you aren’t going to sleep on the couch, we have another show tomorrow, it’ll be hell on your back. You’ll just have to fight John for covers.”

“Are you sure it’s John?”

“One-hundred percent.”

“Then how come John blames you?”

“Because neither of us can blame Brian?”

Freddie laughs. This one has the warmth that Roger can bask in. He links arms with Fred after discarding his cigarette. It makes Freddie toss his, and they wander back to the hotel. This time they take the elevator.

Roger quietly opens the door. Freddie trails in behind him. Brian and John haven’t moved much in the forty minutes he’s been gone. He smiles regardless, because now John is the big spoon and Brian’s arms stretch out towards his open space. There’s a furrow on his face that Roger moves to soothe.

“Hush, I’m back, love.”

Brian seems to move towards his voice, and Roger slips under the covers, the arm going over his waist. He twists to pat the spot behind him.

“C’mon,” he whispers, “we need sleep.”

Freddie slowly walks over but settles next to Roger with ease. He’ll never get used to how the singer prefers to sleep on his back. It’s occasionally disconcerting, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. Also, there’s extra warmth on his back, and he can’t complain about it.

The surprised shriek from John in the morning makes it worth it, too.

* * *

John doesn’t know what set off this anxiety. It’s incredibly dumb, but it still makes his hands shake and his throat closes whenever he thinks about it. Even when he’s nothing thinking about it, the anxiety is buzzing around his head.

Brian picks up on it first. John isn’t surprised, Brian is a sort of sponge for emotions. Taking whatever anyone else is feeling and amplifying it. So, he starts pulling away from Brian, just because his anxiety is stupid. He doesn’t even understand it.

He does, but it’s the same way he feels at the start of every new relationship. This one is just different. This one he has stakes in and this one was already established before he joined it. He knows Roger and Brian wouldn’t have added him unless he felt that they could make this work, truly. What if they decide they can’t? John can’t be the reason their relationship fails.

What he should have expected is Roger. It only takes Roger a couple of days to figure out there’s something off with Brian, and then Brian tells him with minimal prodding (apparently Brian values communication in this relationship above his own stubbornness, there’s a story there). Regardless when Roger pulls him into an empty dressing room a few hours before the show, he’s not sure where this is going.

 _Sex, probably._ He thinks, although Brian isn’t in sight and they’ve never done it without all three.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?”

Roger rolls his eyes, “what’s making you so twitchy?”

John frowns, “nothing. I’m fine. If anything, it’s you pulling me into a dressing room and demanding to know what’s wrong.”

He doesn’t mean to get so defensive, but Roger hasn’t managed to get past all his walls (yet). His pulse turns thready at the sharp annoyance directed at him and his hands start to shake. John tries to shove the thoughts back into their box.

Roger backs down after a second, “sorry.”

_What?_

“Huh?”

“I didn’t mean to come across so strongly,” Roger rubs the back of his head, “it’s just that there’s something going on, and I don’t know what. You’ve been distance, Bri has been… well… sad.”

John shakes his head, “it’s nothing, really. I think my mood is just rubbing off on him.”

Roger purses his lips, “so tell me about it?”

“I-” John sighs, “I already know it’s useless.”

He watches with some despair as Roger jumps up on the counter and looks like he’s getting comfortable. John leans against the wall. If he needs to, he’ll out stubborn Roger, they have two hours before the show.

Roger frowns, “John, please talk to me. I know you’re new to… us this way, but Bri and I nearly lost each other because we didn’t want to talk it out.”

John tilts his head. He doesn’t remember any time that Brian and Roger have been less than a perfect couple (other than adding a third, but he doesn’t know if that’s a fault yet). No. He can’t think of anything.

“Before, when we were in Smile,” Roger seems to shrink in on himself, “Brian was in one his moods, ya know the really bad ones? I didn’t know they could get that bad at the time, so when he started getting distant, I thought he was cheating on me.”

It’s hard to think about that. Either one of them cheating on the other, but then again, they were younger.

“I started to pull away because I thought that he was going to break up with me or I was going to confirm my suspicion about him cheating and that only made it worse.”

John moves closer to wrap Roger in a brief hug before pulling away to let him finish. Roger blinks in surprise but shakes it away.

“Anyway, if not for Tim that would’ve ended us. He sort of knew how Brian gets and explained it to me. I followed it up myself only to find out that Brian thought I was going to break up with him because he was too difficult to handle. Could you imagine?”

He shakes his head, he also can’t imagine a world where those two weren’t reining in each other’s worse impulses.

“Exactly, so communication is important to us.”

Roger catches his eyes. John looks away for a second and then crosses his arms as he steps back across the small space. The message is clear enough, and he supposes he owes it to them because they’re trusting him.

“Like I said it’s kind of dumb.”

He glances back at Roger who is making a go on gesture with his hand.

“I’m anxious,” John starts, it’s an easy enough place.

“About what?” Roger encourages.

He leans back on his hands now. John feels the difference in the air like he’s not being crowded.

“This. I know I shouldn’t be.”

Roger tilts his head, “our relationship?”

“Yes. I know what you and Brian told me, but you’re also _you and Brian_.”

He watches blue eyes flick to the distance and the tongue pokes out between his teeth while he thinks, “you’re worried you’ll be an outsider?”

John clears his throat and then nods, relieved that he wasn’t going to have to say it. Roger jumps down and steps towards him. His arms are open and John ducks into them. Later he’ll yell at himself for being weak, but Roger does give amazing hugs.

“Have we done something to make you feel like that?”

He shakes his head.

“Words, John, please.”

“No, you haven’t. Just been thinking about it all.”

Roger pulls away, “we won’t. Promise. Brian and I, we do have feelings for you.”

“Just not love?”

“Not yet,” Roger looks away like he wishes he could give a different answer, “but it’s possible, and you truly can’t say you love us either?”

“I’m not _in_ love with you.”

“There you go.”

They hug again for another minute before Roger is pulling him down the hallway. Freddie is exiting his own “assigned” dressing room and wiggles his eyebrows as they passed. John swears he heard someone say something behind the door, but before he could say anything Roger is pulling him away again.

Brian peers up from where he’s fiddling with the Red Special. He sets it to the side a few seconds before John is practically tossed at him. Both let out sharp breaths when they collide, but Brian steadies him before he can slide onto the floor.

“Not that I’m complaining, but why?”

“Pre-show cuddles,” Roger shrugs and then squeezes into the scant space between the couch arm and Brian.

Roger ends up digging a knee into John’s hand, and an elbow lands against Brian’s clavicle. Safely settled he props his legs up, and John scowls at the proximity of feet near his face. Roger seems unconcerned and Brian looks like he’s being crushed.

“There’s literally four feet of the couch, we don’t have to take up only two.”

“What the fun in that?”

“The fun is keeping circulation in my legs,” Brian shoves Roger.      

John uses Roger’s distraction to scamper free and to the other end of the couch. It makes Roger overbalance and he falls onto his ass from the couch arm. Brian smirks at him before wiggling over to John and laying alongside him with his head on John’s chest.

“Now there’s no room,” Roger pouts.

“Should’ve thought about that,” Brian sticks his tongue out.

He rolls his eyes and maneuvers so that there’s enough room for Roger. It’ll give him a stiff back, but nothing he can’t work out before their show. Besides his dancing should loosen it further. John smiles as Brian and Roger push at each other to try and take up more room on his chest.

They’re still new at this, but John thinks it’ll work out and he’s even more sure they’ll have more bumps in the road. He wants this to work out, and he figures that’s all they need right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohoho. I wonder if people will figure it out now? As always leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me on tumblr!


	6. And tether loosely hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. This has been a hot minute. But. Uhm. Update?

At the start, they had agreed to stay away from the hard drugs. Brian ignores the cocaine, like John, and tries to be grateful that at least Roger and Freddie are doing it together and that they’re mostly safe about it. They’ve thrown enough words at each other in anger to have come up with a compromise.

Even if John’s finding his at the bottom of a bottle of hard liquor.

Brian is sure if they can get a break from recording a touring, things will snap back into their revolutions. It’s been like this for years. To fight it would be delusional. He shakes his head and steps forward for the solo in Sheer Heart Attack. They’re one song from finishing. It had been a solid show.

Brian should’ve known better. They’re in Germany and he always gets bad feelings about this country for some unexplainable reason.

Once the show is done, they split up into their assigned dressing rooms for the showers. Brian groans when he realizes that he’s out of shampoo, he blames John because he thought the bassist smelled a little too much like him. He stalks down to Freddie’s room because he always has extra products. Like a hundred times before he barges into the dressing room without knocking.

Like several times prior he’s met with Freddie in a compromising position. This time he’s got some tech’s dick down his throat. Brian feels a surge of anger but bites it back. It’s his own fault for not knocking. Although he knows it's not because he walked in on the scene, but rather that the scene is happening at all.

He steals the bottle of shampoo on the dresser and storms out.

“Lock the door, Fred!”

If only that had been the end of it.

Freddie had shown up at breakfast with bags under his eyes and a limp to his gate. Brian stabs the fruit on his plate with more force than necessary. John frowns.

“What’d the cantaloupe do to you Bri?”

“Not ripe,” he replies.

“I see.”

Roger returns to the table with a full plate. Brian wrinkles his nose at the obscene amount of sausage before turning his attention back to John and ignoring Freddie who still hasn’t arrived at their table yet.

“I’d ask if you were hungover, but I didn’t see you drink last night,” Roger says.

Brian shrugs. He himself isn’t entirely sure why the bad mood is lingering. Everyone has bad days, maybe this is just one of them. Freddie sits down across from him. He offers a nod in greeting.

“Morning Fred,” John says.

“Good morning, Freddie!” Roger says enthusiastically.

“Morning lovelies, and Brian.”

He knows it is meant as a light tease, he still bristles. Brian inhales sharply and shoves another piece of fruit in his mouth. This bad mood is ridiculous. Hopefully, he can work it out before the show. Freddie frowns at him.

“Oh Freddie, you have to see this!”

Roger drags Freddie off leaving Brian with John again.

“Care to explain?”

Brian bites his cheek and tries to push the bad mood away, “I can’t.”

John narrows his eyes, “can’t, or don’t want to?”

“Can’t. I know what started it, but I don’t know why it’s still bothering me.”  
Brian glances up at John who is watching him. He shoves another piece of fruit into his mouth in annoyance.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t affect tonight’s show.”

“I’m a professional,” Brian says.

“We’re friends first, Brian,” John replies, “well, _we’re_ lovers, but it is the same point.”

“I know.”

Freddie and Roger take that moment to return. Roger looks moody but Freddie is grinning brightly already chatting about the things they need to do before the show tonight. Brian picks at his plate for a few minutes longer before determining that he’s stayed long enough. He still needs to finish straightening the hotel room.

* * *

The show that night is rough. Not because they didn’t perform well, because they did. Freddie is very obviously ignoring his side of the stage. Brian isn’t known for moving around too much, pacing between the drums and the center, but that night he nearly considers following Freddie around. He really doesn’t know why Freddie is acting like this, but John and Roger are sending him looks over their instruments.

He keeps his lips firmly pressed together.

Nailing this guitar solo is the priority. He can deal with everything else afterward. His fingers dance over the strings, and even Freddie loses his cold attitude for a second strutting towards him and cocking his hip before spinning and strutting the other direction. Brian bites his lip and lets the solo fade into the bridge as Freddie’s voice fills the air again.

They file off the stage after their second encore. Brian’s blood is thrumming with a mixture of adrenaline and annoyance. If he had been less keyed up or if Freddie hadn’t obviously shut the door in his face as he entered the room Brian would’ve let it go.

Truly.

“Want to explain what tonight was about?” Brian asks, his voice louder but he’s not yelling yet.

“We had a good show,” Freddie shrugs.

On the couch, Roger and John pull away from each other and their conspiratorial whispers.

“You ignored me all night!”

It sounds stupid when he throws it out like that.

“You ignored me this morning, and most of last night!”

“Don’t put this back on me!”

Freddie snorts, “I’m sorry we all can’t be in a stable loving relationship, we’re not all purists.”

“What?” The heat in his words dies down.

“You know what I mean. I sleep around and that upsets you because you think everyone should fall in love in their early twenties and have a happy relationship.”

“I don’t think that at all,” Brian sighs.

“Right, this wouldn’t happen if I just kept in my pants.”

“It’s not that at all. Christ! Fred, are you even listening?”

“I don’t need to in order to know what you’re going to say,” Freddie turns around.

“Not all of us have to cling desperately to our first loves.”

Brian steps back at the anger in the words. He opens his mouth and then closes it. Instead, he chooses to grab his guitar case and go to his actual assigned dressing room.

“Fred –”

He doesn’t want to hear what Roger is going to say. The silence of his dressing room is only drowned out by the buzzing in his head and ringing in his ears. Maybe he should see about ear protection, the ringing is starting to last longer after a show. He needs his ears. His hands shake and he lays the case on the vanity and slumps on the couch. Why had he been so upset?

Not jealousy, he loves Roger and John. Freddie’s sleeping around hadn’t been something he was always upset about. Maybe he’s starting to worry because… because why? It doesn’t feel like worry, really, Fred is an adult who can choose who he consents to and how he carries out the act. Brian knows Freddie can take care of himself. Who he brings to bed is none of Brian’s business.

So why had it bothered him so much?

For whatever reason, his mind drifts to the string of dreams he had. They still visit him occasionally, but not frequently. He hasn’t determined what they mean, but more frequently the echo chamber of voices rings clearer in his mind. _You’ve just killed Queen._ Brian doesn’t want to think that this is the start of it.

He ducks his hands into his hands, feet on the floor in mock prayer. When confronted about this by Roger and John he’ll have to come up with a reason. One he doesn’t have. Another lie to add to the three he’s kept from them so far.

One of these that dam is going to break and he’s going to be left alone.

* * *

Walking in on Freddie and someone had been a rare occurrence, but it seems that after their fight Brian can’t stop happening across some scene he’d rather not know about.

He drops across the couch in their hotel. Roger is nowhere to be seen, but John pops out of the bathroom with shaving cream still stuck to his face. Brian smiles and moves so that he is sitting on the couch arm. John walks between his legs and places a kiss on his forehead. Brian feels some of the shaving cream stick.

John rubs the towel over it, “wanna talk about it?”

“I just ran into Freddie and Dave –”

“Dave was last month.”

“Well, I just ran into Freddie and whoever having a grand old time in the staircase.”

“Again?” John wrinkles his nose.

“Happened to you?”

“No, just that you walked in on Freddie again.”  
Brian sighs, “I don’t know. Maybe I’m cursed.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, both Roger and I have walked in on him too. It just doesn’t bother us as much as it does you.”

There’s a question there, and Brian isn’t sure why he’s answering it. If John wanted to know he would’ve asked, “I’m _not_ jealous of Freddie.”  
“Are you jealous of Freddie’s partners?”

“What?” Brian blinks, “no, I have you and Roger. Why would I be jealous of them?”

John shrugs, “I wouldn’t blame you; Freddie is very beautiful.”

Brian shakes his head, “it isn’t that, not entirely, I think. It’s more like why am I the one always walking into it? Do you think he’s still mad about the one time?”

“Fred doesn’t hold grudges for that long,” John kisses his forehead again, “once we’re done with this tour things will even out again. We haven’t been out of each other’s pockets for months.”

“I like being in your pocket,” Brian grins.

“I think you mean that you like me being in yours.”

“Semantics,” Brian laughs, “but I think we have time now.”

John leans down and kisses him heatedly. Shaving cream smears on his hand from where he cups John’s face. They both lean away and grimace.

“Started without me?” Roger chirps from the entryway, “how rude.”

“You were too slow,” John replies airily, “keep Brian busy while I finish?”

“Do you have to ask?”

“I could tell you.”

Brian whines, “I don’t care who, but someone get over here and kiss me.”

“Bossy,” Roger teases.

He takes John’s position as soon as it’s vacated. Roger bends down and rubs his cheekbones before putting two fingers under his jaw and tilting upwards. The kiss is chaste for a second before Roger is pressing against him harder. One of Brian’s hands flies out to grip the side of the couch, to keep them from tilting over. Roger pushes against him and they tumble back against the couch.

Brian pulls away, “we can’t fuck on the couch.”

“Why not?”

“We’ll get stiff.”

“We aren’t that old,” Roger pouts, “and who says we’re going to fuck?”

Brian shoves his hips against Roger, their clothed erections rub together. It forces a wheeze out of Roger who has to lean forward in order to not lose all of his balance. Naturally, Brian takes advantage of the new position and drags Roger’s head down by carefully tugging on his lip.

“Hope you haven’t gotten too far without me.”

Roger carefully pulls away from Brian, “that happened _once!”_

* * *

John doesn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on Brian’s lingering bad mood. He rarely brings it into the bedroom or against Freddie. It’s just these last few weeks on the road getting to them. They all need space apart: he’s planning a visit to his mom’s after the tour. Roger has something going on in Manchester, which means Brian will have their home to himself for a few days.

That’s usually enough to calm them all down.

He dangles the lit cigarette over the balcony. Roger and Brian are curled together on the bed. John had skipped tonight’s escapades citing that he was too tired to participate. Not that he hadn’t offered a few suggestions. They’re in need of a proper shag, long and intimate rather than their quick fucks.

John grimaces when he hears a loud moan. He tilts his head to see where it came from when he sees that it is from the balcony only a few rooms away. In the light, it is hard to tell but he can just make out two figures. Both male. When one of them moans again, John realizes that its Freddie.

He snubs out his cigarette. Watching is more of Brian or Roger’s thing, just as he’s about to enter his room the second person makes a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a groan. John knows that voice as well, he turns his head against to confirm his suspicions. Sure enough, it’s Prenter that has Freddie pinned against the banister. He worries first about Freddie over balancing, then his face morphs into a sneer when he realizes that Prenter finally has got what he wants.

Somehow Freddie’s eyes catch his, and he’s sure that Freddie can see his face. He’ll have to find some way to explain it in the morning. Freddie hates when any of them get preachy. Freddie would consider “maybe you shouldn’t shag our day-to-day manager” preaching and outright saying that John doesn’t trust Prenter would be an “attack on his character that is completely unwarranted.”

There has to be a reason Brian doesn’t like him. Roger and Prenter more often end up at each other’s throats, so John doesn’t feel like his judgment is unfair. Freddie isn’t going to listen to that. Hopefully, Brian won’t walk in on them.

He makes sure to quietly close the door to the balcony, not wanting to wake up Brian or Roger. Truthfully he wants to slam it because the anger that Prenter is the one Freddie took to bed isn’t just because it’s _Prenter._ He finds that he wants to be the one doing that. John is mad at himself because he has two of the most beautiful people he’s ever met in his bed right now. Why should he want more?

Brian sniffles and stirs, “John?”

“I’ll be there in a sec,” John murmurs.

He feels more than sees Brian’s sleepy smile as he turns over. Roger grumbles but stills once Brian settles. John takes another deep breath, leaving all the anger behind and crawls into bed behind Brian. Roger’s eye cracks open at the disturbance but quickly falls back asleep.

Just a few more weeks and they’ll get back to normal.

The tour does end on a high note, reporters lavish praise and try to get to the bottom of why most of Queen is content with going home without a groupie on their arms. As John predicted a few days away from each other brings them all back to equilibrium. He’s in the middle of planning a full day scene between lazily scratching down basslines for their next album when Freddie walks into the studio.

_Prenter_ is on his arm. John nods in greeting. It’s none of his business if Freddie wants to keep a fling going after the tour, even if he wishes it was with anyone else (preferably him or Brian or Roger… _all of them_ ).

“John!” Prenter says, “how’s it going?”

“I’m well. Thank you for asking.”

Freddie frowns at his tone, “doesn’t sound well, trouble in paradise?”

Even if there was, John isn’t going to talk about that in front of Prenter. The man smells weakness like a shark smells blood.

“I thought everyone is back?”

“Yes, just didn’t sleep well. Still getting used to not being on tour.”

Freddie hums, “how would you feel about using a studio in France for our next album? England feels stale now.”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” John replies, “you’ll have to ask Brian and Roger though.”

Prenter wraps around Freddie. John very carefully doesn’t think about a snake wrapping around a cat. He returns to the bassline he was working on and then scratches it out because it doesn’t sound right.

“You can just tell them that’s what we’re doing, Freddie, you’re the singer.”  
John bristles.

“Don’t be absurd, Roger will remain in London if he doesn’t want to go, and then where will we be?”

He lets out a breath of air, sneaking a glance at Prenter who seems annoyed by Freddie’s dismissal. John digs through his folder for his current favorite sheet music.

“Fred, do you want to take a look at this?”

“New song?”

“Yeah.”

Freddie takes it, slipping out of Prenter’s grasp. His finger is tapping a beat on John’s shoulder. Brian enters the studio, carrying the bag of takeout that he and Roger went to get half an hour ago.

“Glad to see you, Fred.”

John rolls his eyes at Brian’s snippy tone. They all know Freddie is chronically late, there’s no reason to be upset about it now. He does get some mild satisfaction at the way Prenter narrows his eyes at Brian’s fairly obvious attempt at ignoring him.

“Did you lose Roger?” John asks.

“No, he’s parking.”

Freddie rummages around in the bag and pulls out an eggroll. He shrugs and pops part of it into his mouth, still staring intently at the sheet music. Brian barely sets the bag down before Freddie is tugging him by the sleeve and gesturing to the music.

“What do you think of this?”

Brian reads over his shoulder, “I like it.”

“It’s John’s.”

“Do you have just the bass or anything else?” Brian turns to him.

John pulls out another sheet of mostly scribbled out lyrics.

“If you can’t beat them?” Freddie reads.

Roger joins them, “who can’t we beat?”

“John’s new song.”

“Ah.”

Roger rummages around the bag, “I feel like we’ve just put out a new album.”

“Surprisingly, that’s what musicians do,” John replies.

Roger sticks his tongue out and then takes Freddie’s half-eaten eggroll.

“There are more,” Brian mumbles.

“How do you feel about recording and writing in France?” Freddie asks.

He steals John’s pen and makes a quick note. At first, he thinks he’s changing some of the lyrics, but then he sees that its some of Freddie’s vocal notes. Roger sets the food out on the table, carefully keeping it from Prenter’s reach.

“France?”

“Change of scenery.”

“I wouldn’t mind. What about you Rog?”

Roger shrugs, “I’m fine with it.”

“Then it's settled,” Freddie claps his hands, “Paul, if you’d be a dear and start the arrangements.”

Roger scowls at Prenter. John guesses that he’s already figured out that this was more Prenter’s idea than Freddie’s. Brian carefully keeps his eyes to the paper.

“Is he coming with?”

Freddie turns around, “of course. Now, let’s eat before we get started on this next album.”

John doesn’t miss the slightly worried face that Brian makes at the news. He stands up to join the others at the table, making an album is a time filled with arguments but its also when they get back to themselves. Prenter was there at Ridge Farm, and he didn’t hinder the album making too much. Things will be as smooth sailing as they’ve always been.

* * *

The toaster clattering out of the kitchen isn’t a surprise. Brian and Roger’s voice have been steadily getting louder over the past half hour. John sighs and stands up, wondering if he’s going to have to separate them. Roger hasn’t calmed down since he figured out that Prenter and Freddie were shagging on the regular, and that there wasn’t anyone else really.

It’s the closest Fred’s gotten to a relationship since things ended with Mary. John knows Roger wants to be happy for him, but then again it is Prenter. With Roger already keyed up, it isn’t a surprise that he didn’t exactly take Brian’s new song well. _Fat Bottomed Girls_ is… well, it’s catchy. Freddie adores it. It’ll be a hit.

John _absolutely_ hates it.

“Roger it is a _song!”_ Brian sighs.

“But when I wrote I’m in Love My Car, I became a car fucker!”

Brian gave a soft shrug, _yeah, kind of._ John steps out of the way as the kettle launches through the doorway, thankfully empty. He watches Brian pop back up from where he ducked. John sits at the counter, which alerts the other two to his presence. They scowl each other, before Brian storms off.

Roger growls and paces the kitchen, “he makes me so–”

His hands claw at the air. John tilts his head, wondering why _this_ song of Brian’s is the one that makes Roger the most upset. There have been other songs that could be construed as Brian wandering if that was the issue here.

“He just doesn’t get it, why I’d have a problem with it.”

“Maybe because you just threw things at him and didn’t explain anything?” John tries.

Roger narrows his eyes and storms out. There’s loud thudding from a bedroom. John rolls his eyes and looks at the clock. They’re expected in the studio in under an hour, and it doesn't look like Brian or Roger are going to be on time. He probably won’t be either, because they only have one car, because none of their licenses are valid in this country and he doesn’t want to burden their driver with their arguments.

He calls the studio, and Prenter is the one that picks up, “hello?”

“Prenter,” John says, “we’re going to be late.”

“That’s a shame,” Prenter says.

It sounds like Prenter thinks its anything but. Freddie must be there. John bites his cheek.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Prenter hangs up the phone. There’s no more yelling in the flat, which is worrisome. He stands up, spends a few minutes to discard the ruined kitchen appliances before going to the back of the house. They have three bedrooms, and they’ve been using all of them recently and not because they were too lazy to clean the sheets.

Roger’s room is the first he comes across. A small blessing, because he’s not sure what to do if Brian were to throw out what they all think he’s done. Huh. Maybe that’s why he’s so defensive, Roger is just implying that he would. Roger’s room is a mess, books, and papers scattered. He steps on pieces of a lightbulb, good thing he’s been ready to work for an hour and is wearing shoes.

In all the chaos, Roger stands firm. Hands trembling and spine rigid. His eyes are closed. John steps further in, unafraid of getting caught in the whirlwind.

“Roggie?”

The nickname earns him Roger’s gaze. Blue eyes are glazed with tears.

“Fuck off, John,” Roger whispers.

“I think not,” John says easily.

He doesn’t stop until he’s only a few feet away from Roger’s form. If Roger truly wanted him out, the picture frame he’s clutching wouldn’t have survived. John knows that picture. It was from the A Night at the Opera tour, they had decided to use Brian as a couch instead of the actual couch.

That was a good tour.

“I don’t see why he would write something like that? Unless there’s a reason?”

“It could be as simple as he liked the lyrics? We don’t always have to put deeply hidden truths in our songs. Otherwise, I have a lot more questions about Ogre Battle.”

Roger lets out a short breath, “then why’d he get so defensive?”

“Maybe because you only got angry. What happened to our communication rule?”

“Kind of went out of the window when Bri started getting moody.”

John still doesn’t understand what happened on tour between Brian and Freddie. At least not why it strained their relationship to the extent that it did. He shrugs, conceding Roger’s point.

“We should talk about it then.”  
Roger grimaces.

“I’ll go check on him, and then come get you. Watch the glass.”

“Shit. I’m sorry Deaks.”

“Lightbulbs can be replaced, yeah?”

He steps over the debris and wanders down the hallway to Brian’s room. The door is closed, and he knocks. When he gets no reply, he knocks again. On the third try, he knocks and opens the door with him.

Brian is curled up on the bed. His pillow over his head in an obvious attempt to muffle the sounds. John steps in further, more worried about Brian’s anger than Roger’s. When nothing is said he fully enters. His heart is in his throat at the unbidden thought about the figure in the hospital because Brian should be moving more than he is –

The pillow lifts off Brian’s head. Oh. He isn’t using it to muffle his and Roger’s sounds. In the low light, John can just make out how puffy Brian’s eyes are.

“Brian?”

He’s not even sure what to say.

“Come to accuse me of cheating as well?”

“No,” John shrugs, “I can leave if you prefer.”

Brian’s eyes widen.

“The room. Leave you alone,” he quickly clarifies.

Forcing Brian out in public is the quickest way to get this fight to last for _weeks._ Hell, maybe they’re still dealing with some fight now. Maybe this is the start to one of Brian’s _moods_ in which case he needs to be even more careful.

“It’s fine John.”

“Obviously,” he bites back the rest of his sentence.

“It is. I’ll tell Freddie to pull the song.”

“Freddie loves the song. It’s not going to get pulled. We just need to talk it out, like we always do.”

“There’s nothing to talk about it. A song is all it is. It isn’t worth this.”

“You’re right. So when I go to get Roger, we’re going to talk this out. You’ll both apologize, and go back to be sickeningly in love with each other.”

“And you,” Brian says with so much force he sits up.

“And me,” John smiles.

“Definitely you.”

They turn to see Roger leaning against the door. All of the anger from earlier is gone, except for a slight twist to his lips. He offers a Roger Taylor smile, and it feels genuine. John moves so that Roger and Brian have direct sight of each other. Brian wedges himself into a corner (how is lanky frame gets into certain positions, John will never know), but Roger only jumps on the bed.

The movement startles both Brian and himself. Roger is lingering with his hand outstretched. Brian reaches out and grabs it.

“I think we need to talk?”

“A little, bit,” Brian _finally_ smiles.

It’s small, but it’s a start.

* * *

Brian knows they’ve all had too much to drink. Freddie’s plan of a Marti Gras party promised the break and fun that they all needed. Especially John, since it was his patience and nonconfrontational personality that’s let them survive this long.

“Dove!” Freddie shouts into his ear.

He winces because the rining is still present even a day after the show. Had he gone to – “Dovey!”

“Hmm?” He tilts dangerously as Freddie adds more weight to him.

Freddie plants a wet and enthusiastic kiss on his lips. Brian just catches a glimpse of white under his nose. He laughs and tries to keep both of them on their feet.

“Here!”

Oh. His shoulder had been getting wet. Freddie had brought over two glasses of something clear. Most of the one Freddie is holding onto is now on his shirt. Brian takes the second glass, they knock them together and then down the shot. It burns and makes the room spin that much more.

Why doesn’t he do this more often?

“Early birds,” Freddie says.

Brian stares, trying to figure out what Freddie is talking about when his head is wrenched around to stare at the couple leaving. He wouldn’t call them early, considering the only people left are the staff and people passed out. Still, he’s having such a good time that he doesn’t want to leave and doesn’t get why people wouldn’t want to have this much fun.

“Deeeaky! Deaky! Over there! Brimi. Hi Brimi!”

Emerging from the bar area, are Roger and John. John is mostly hanging onto Roger, stumbling more than walking. They both hold onto two bottles each. Brian lights up, more alcohol and his three favorite people? Yes, please.

“Hmph.”

Brian turns to see Freddie pouting. He doesn’t like the look, so he leans down. (Freddie should never be sad). Their lips meet. Sort of. Brian misses and they end up bumping noses. Freddie quickly fixes the problem. Brian lets Freddie take control of the kiss. It’s hot but uncoordinated and certainly not the best kiss he’s ever had.

But it is very close.

He pulls away. Or rather is pulled away. Roger’s eyes are flicking between the two of them sluggishly his pupils blown wide. Brian takes a second… Freddie isn’t in their relationship. Shit shit shit… oh shit? Roger is kissing Fred with his usual enthusiasm increased by the booze.

Unfortunately, Roger’s enthusiasm knocks Freddie over, who still is mostly wrapped around Brian. All three of them hit the ground hard enough that they’ll bruise. At the moment Brian doesn’t care and takes the slowly spilling bottles from Roger’s grip. He takes a long pull of one and then watches as Roger resumes.

Where is John? There’s John. He waves the fourth member over. John shakes his head and sets the bottles on the table. Roger leans back into Brian, just as John reaches the pile. Freddie pulls John down into a heated kiss, which only makes Roger turn around and kiss Brian.

He whines because he wants to watch but then Roger is shoving his tongue down his throat and he’s fine with this compromise. They maneuver until Roger is sitting in his lap and they don’t have to move too much to kiss. Now that he’s on the ground, he’s finding that he’s more interested in falling asleep than anything else.

He pulls Roger to resting on his shoulder when the kisses become less that and more resting their lips against each other. Brian turns to watch John and Freddie. John is on top of Freddie, but it looks like he stopped moving. He’s about to shake John when a loud snore gives him the answer they need.

Brian tilts enough that he can see Freddie. He doesn’t understand the look on his face, but it hurts. Roger is holding onto one of his hands, bending and splaying his fingers, Brian reaches out with his free one to Freddie wiggling his fingers in invitation. Freddie ignores it.

Which hurts. Slowly he recoils his hand and places it on Roger’s back. He feels the drummer’s breathing even out while still playing with his hands. He can’t fight falling asleep.

They don’t talk about it in the morning. Or, Brian argues to himself between the throbs in his head, they don’t remember it. Hell, he doesn’t even know if it happened. When he woke up they were still in the same positions, but they always get drunk and cuddle together.

Also, they can’t really talk about it. John quickly moved back to their hotel room once he got back on his feet. Taking a drink of one of the bottles he left on the table to ease some of the symptoms before calling them a cab. Roger’s currently curled up around the toilet, evidently suffering from food poisoning as well as a hangover.

Brian wants to comfort him, but even breathing hurts his head. He can’t imagine what the sounds of someone getting sick would do to it. Besides, he’s having a crisis and no one is helping him with it.

Freddie vanished as soon as they got to the hotel.

Logically it makes sense that he just dreamed that all three of them kissed Freddie. He wants it and was vulnerable enough that he couldn’t stop the dream. Besides if it was _real_ then that means Freddie really did reject him last night.

Which is… understandable really if an exceptionally painful reality.

Either way, his desire is only magnified tenfold now that he thinks he has an accurate feeling of how Freddie’s lips would feel against his. He knows that Roger and John would probably be game to add Freddie to this, but Freddie probably doesn’t want _this._ Compared to the people he’s seen Freddie take home, they’re entirely domestic. Freddie craves adventure and excitement and love.

With other people but them.

Because Brian knows last night happened.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Brian. Man they should really use their own rule more about communication. And y'all thought it would be smooth sailing? Not yet.


	7. With Stinging Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, another update! As I'm sure people have seen I've been distracted by some other minor projects of mine. But I haven't forgotten about this one!

> _There’s a strange feeling to the house. It’s dark, but not so much that he’s blinded. Quiet too, even the outside. He slides his legs over the edge of the bed. It creaks. Louder in the silence. He turns his head. Where is he?_
> 
> _A magazine on the nightstand has his face on the cover. Not his face. An older face? His face. Eventually, letters appear on the cover. They weren’t there before? Bright red and white. Slowly the form words. The name of the magazine. He’s never heard of this one._
> 
> _How did they get an interview then?_
> 
> _In the distance a coo-coo clock chimes. **Coo coo. Coo coo**. Is it morning or night? His mother had one which rang at 8:00 am and midnight. His gaze goes back to the magazine._
> 
> LAST LIVING QUEEN
> 
> Brian May tells all Pg. 9.
> 
> _What?_
> 
> _The magazine opens to page nine. It’s in his hands now. When had he picked it up? He watches the black and white unblur to form words. Images unswirl to form him. The other too. Older? Grayer certainly. Does Roger have a beard?_
> 
> _“I miss them. Often, I wish I hadn’t outlived them, so I didn’t have to miss them.”_
> 
> _Outlive who? Outlive Roger, John, and Freddie? That seems like a stretch. Oh. He’s crying. Why his he crying? Because it’s true? He’s alone._
> 
> _He can’t be. Can’t be alone. It doesn’t make sense._
> 
> _They’re alive. They played a show yesterday. He’s not old. He still has so much life to live._

Brian shoots awake and rolls onto his feet in the same movement. He dashes to the bathroom, hitting his knee on the edge of the tub as he crowds over it. Salt mixes with his meal, and he gags on the taste.

Hands are rubbing his back but it’s too much. He gags again and again in time with the rotations. All he has left is bile. His wrist is holding him up, but he can’t keep himself upright. He’s shaking too much. The hand on his back leaves and he’s grateful.

With the hand gone, he calms more. Someone hands him a glass of water which he takes a sip to rinse out his mouth and spits it into the tub. Then greedily he downs the rest. The cup his taken away from him and he can hear it be set down on the counter.

A hand grips his shoulder and he rolls it. It’s nicer without the hands. He doesn’t feel as trapped in his own skin if he doesn’t have the hands on him. Slowly the ringing in his hears dies down. There’s murmuring next to him. He lifts his eyes to see Roger and John conversing at the far end of the hallway.

Roger straightens when their gazes meet, “Brian?”

His tongue is sticky. He moves it and then makes a vague gesture for more water. John reacts first, his eyes glistening in concern and exhaustion. Brian takes the glass and downs it again. Things feel a little clearer after that. Like the throbbing in his knee from where he hit it.

“You okay?” Roger tries again.

He shakes his head, “I’m not – I’m not sick.”

John sends him a doubtful look and then towards the tub. Brian grimaces.

“Well. Not ill,” Brian swallows, “I really don’t know what brought this on.”

He does. The quicker it’s forgotten the better. He’s still shaking. Why had his mind come up with something like that? Fuck.

John extends his hand. He hesitates but Brian offers his hand instead. John tries to tug him up, but he resists. He can’t stand just yet, but he wants the grounding feeling. Roger steps forward and rubs his back again.

“You’ll tell us if it gets worse?” _Again._

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

Roger bites his bottom lip as they share a look. Brian knows that he hasn’t really earned their trust back from that time. At the same time, he didn’t know it was that bad. He would’ve acted on it sooner had he known.

“I promise. Maybe I ate something rotten?”

“We ate the same thing,” John counters.

Brian shrugs. Thankfully, Roger and John drop it after a longer look. He sighs and slumps against the tub. The smell of sick making his stomach turn.

“John, want to take him back and I’ll clean up here?”

John extends a second hand. Brian reaches for it and eventually pulls himself back up to his feet. He’s still shaky, and John notices it. This time he’s sure because his body is low on energy rather than the dream. Which he carefully avoids thinking about.

He doesn’t want to, but it’s prickling at the back of his head and he wants to dig at it. Open the wound to fully examine it and figure it out. At the same time, a creeping coldness wraps around his back. Brian bites his cheek, all too familiar with that feeling.

John’s watching him in a way that Brian almost thinks he knows what’s going on in his head. He swallows, maybe he should’ve asked to brush his teeth, and ignores the itchy feeling. Maybe when John and Roger leave him alone, he’ll examine it more fully.

He doesn’t like not knowing things. If that’s somehow his future. He doesn’t want that.

“Do you think you can eat something? Crackers? Oatmeal?”

Brian closes his eyes tightly at the thought of food, “no. Not right now.”  
The coldness digs its claws into his lung. John hugs him from the angle they’re at before setting him down on the bed. John smooths back some of his hair and places a kiss on his forehead.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Queasy.”

“Do you want me to bring you medicine?”

Brian reaches up to grip John’s wrist. Anyway, when had he been sat down? He doesn’t remember getting from the bathroom to their bed. John soothes him by mumbling into his hair.

“Okay. I’ll stay. Okay. Okay.”

Brian nods and buries his face into John’s stomach. His surroundings feel sharper, but his emotions are slowly seeping away. He knows that one of his _moods_ is coming. Not surprising really. Considering his dream. It’s just bad timing because John and Roger are going to be hyper-alert to him.

“Scoot back. Lie down, there you go. Want the cover? Okay, we’ll keep it off.”

John follows him into the bed and wraps around him again. Brian pulls away enough that he can stare into John’s eyes, which are no less exhausted, but he looks calmer. Which is a win. He closes his eyes as John starts combing through his hair. It takes him a second to realize it, but John is also humming a lullaby.

A made-up one it seems.

Roger enters the room a few minutes later. Brian doesn’t open his eyes to acknowledge him but feels the blond curl into his back. Lips brush his neck gently.

“Sleep well love.”

The bed shifts and he hears soft kissing. John and Roger then.

“And you sleep well, too, love.”

“It’s confusing when you call us both love,” John grumbles.

“But I love both of you.”

Brian smiles. The coldness is still taking root in his chest, but maybe. It won’t be so bad this time. He has two very stubborn lovers.

* * *

He can’t tear his eyes from Freddie tonight. Well. Most nights if he’s being honest with himself, but tonight he can tell that John and Roger are equally affected. John is bouncing around with even more vigor than normal, but his bass is carefully positioned over his hips.

Brian doesn’t miss the heated looks from Roger when he walks back, a little stiffer than normal because of his surprise for his boys later. Freddie is mercilessly all over him tonight. He can’t help but think about the Mardi Gras party. Maybe Freddie did remember but he’s trying to not make it weird.

Not that it would be weird considering he’s currently on his back straddling Brian’s leg while Brian is playing a solo. He makes sure to keep his leg straight as Freddie rises to a standing position. This time he knows that Freddie’s touches were on purpose. Rather, meant to get a reaction out of them.

And reacting they are. Brian wonders if he imagines the growl through the music. A glance back to Roger shows the drummer’s eyes are on Freddie, barely paying attention to his instrument. It’s a good thing they’re used to playing semi-distracted.

John does get a little testy when he’s _almost_ late for a song transition. The fans don’t notice, but it does make Deaky’s movements a little less graceful. Then again, the look might be because Freddie is plastered to his side and it doesn’t look like there’s any space between them.

Brian’s mouth goes dry. He keeps licking his lips to moisten his mouth, it fails, but he can’t leave the stage to get something to drink. Not yet at least. Poor John is still getting the brunt of Freddie through the chorus now.

At the end of the song, Freddie skips away and delivers a sharp slap to his ass, he barely controls the gasp (his surprise seems like a bad idea). Brian calls out the next song, or he thinks he does because now Freddie is wiggling his hips in front of Roger’s drums. Roger doesn’t miss his cue, but almost.

He backs up to try and help Roger but then John bops across the stage and they’re pressed back to back. They both strike down at the same time Freddie leaps of the risers. It would make a lovely image. If anyone had the skill to capture it.

Once Freddie’s center stage again gliding around in his slippers, John steps away from him just to spin with his bass. He stops it partway so that he can breathe hotly against Brian’s neck before skipping away to his side of the stage. Left alone Brian tries to catch his breath but then Freddie’s back over him again. Pulling their hips flush.

He’s entirely grateful that a mic didn’t pick up the squeak he made. Roger heard it though because the cymbal strike came a little too early. Thankfully no one would be able to tell. Brian has a feeling that he’s going to die before he gets off this stage.

Which while a satisfying way to go, is absolutely mortifying. He doesn’t even have the confidence to try and get back at them. Besides people would notice that.

Instead, he turns whatever focus he can to his guitar. His fingers fly over the frets. One of his calluses breaks during a slide. He hisses and hopes to avoid getting too much blood on his guitar or shirt.

Thankfully they have a transitionary drum solo, which Roger has been complaining about because it’s a long one. Brian grabs a rag from Crystal, who’s waiting in the wings to get to Roger to give him water. John offers him the rest of his water bottle, and Brian is certain that the water isn’t currently in the glass he’s holding.

He sighs and keeps his mouth shut. Freddie too is catching his breath and resting. His callus stops bleeding. Brian isn’t surprised to see that it’s a pretty bad tear, considering they’re so hardened by now. John leans over and picks up his hand before sticking it into his mouth.

“That’s unsanitary John!”

Also sexy as hell, but human mouths are dirty and it’s an open wound. Freddie laughs, while John at least has the decency to attempt to look chagrined. It’s fake, but he tried.

Roger’s solo ends, and Freddie prances on the stage blowing kisses. Their next song starts with a piano to give Roger a quick break. Crystal is already rushing out to him to hand him a towel and water. Brian leaves next ducking his head in greeting the crowd.

John walks out next, just as Freddie starts up the opening notes. Whoops, they took too long. Brian takes a second to make sure that nothing had jostled during the few minutes he wasn’t using the Red Special. Sounds nice, and now he’s able to jump in on time.

The rest of the show goes by in a blur. Brian knows they sounded good, but Freddie seemed to up his game after that short break, and it was only worse after their few encores. He’s not sure how he made it through the show, at some point his horniness turned into actual hardness.

Roger and Deaky seem to be in similar states. As soon as the final notes trail out, Brian is being shoved off the stage by Roger. It probably looks like Roger is having one of his common post-show tantrums or a brotherly tussle to the fans, but his hands were just a little too low with the swat.

John bows once more before happily skipping over cords. Brian licks his lips, with Roger worked up as much as he is and John riding a post-high, he can’t imagine what’s going to happen to _him._

“My assigned dressing room, six minutes,” John whispers into his ear.

The tone doesn’t allow for any argument. Roger slips past him to where Crystal is holding up another water bottle and towel. Brian nods to the aid, before slipping through the backstage door. A hand grips his wrist.        Freddie is eyeing him warily.

“I wasn’t too much, right?”

Brian shakes his head before finding his voice, “no. Of course not Fred.”

“Roger seemed… angry?”

“No. He’s just keyed up.”

He barely holds back the request for Freddie to join them or the far more problematic urge of wanting to get down on his knees in front of the singer. He shakes his head at Freddie’s concerned look.

“I promise Fred, we would tell you if we had a problem with something you did on stage.”

Freddie nods again and drops his wrist. Brian half wonders if Freddie imagines him on his knees. He smiles again before heading off to his assigned dressing room to at least wash off the sweat from the show. Although he does grin at the surprise he has for John and Roger. Between the adrenaline and Freddie’s actions, Brian had forgotten about the tiny plug he slipped in earlier.

After he and John’s morning romp.

Brian finishes quickly and bumps into Roger at the six-minute mark exactly six minutes after John told them. He knocks and waits until he hears a muffled come in. The time apart has cooled them down some, but from here Brian can see the tent in John’s jeans.

“There you two are. Right on time, my good boys.”

Brian bites his cheek to keep from making an embarrassing noise. Roger locks the door. They don’t have a lot of time before someone collects them to go to the hotel or after-party, but he does want to take the edge off.

He jumps when Roger’s hand slides down his back before cupping his ass. Brian yelps.

“I thought you were moving awkwardly,” Roger squeezes.

John raises an eyebrow, “care to share with the class?”

Roger wraps around him, popping the button on his jeans before pushing them down to the middle of his thighs. His hands skip up Brian’s ribs before pulling away and directing Brian towards the dresser.

“Bend down and show John what you’ve done, hm?”

Brian positions himself over the back of the chair, placing his arms on the dresser and slowly spreads his legs to avoid losing his balance. He hears the high-pitched gasp of Roger and the low groan from John.

“Look at that,” John mumbles.

He turns his head just enough to see the direction John had been sitting in. Brian cocks his head and looks through his eyelashes.

“Like what you see?”

“Babe,” Roger groans.

John’s hands wrap around his hips and pull him flush to his groin. Brian hums contentedly at the movement, pushing back against John.

“You aren’t going to get to come yet,” John groans, “Roger get the –”

The rest of the sentence his cut off by John snapping and pointing. Brian turns his head forward, catching John’s eyes in the mirror. A surge of pride soars through him at the fact that he’s worked John up to that post-show high again just by bending over. He wonders why kind of power he could hold over John if he decided he wanted to take control for a night.

Like Roger does.

Roger peaks over John’s shoulder, shaking a brand-new bottle of lube.

“As I said, you don’t get to come yet,” John murmurs, his hands skipping down the bumps of Brian’s spine under his shirt, “going to let me and Roger use you, like the needy boy you are?”

Brian nods excitedly. John makes eye contact with him again, and Brian nods with a smile. Then the soft John he loves is replaced with the commanding bedroom version Brian loves the same. The touches turn from light and teasing to deliberate. He works the plug out with practiced ease.

“Roger, how do you want him, his mouth or his ass?”

Roger hums, pretending to think about it, “doesn’t matter which way to me.”

“We’ll save that mouth of yours for later in the hotel when we’re too tired to fuck you properly. How’s that Bri? Want us to fuck slowly into your mouth because you still need something to fill you?”

“Perfect.”

John must be on edge if he ignores Brian’s misstep of courtesy. They aren’t using pet names either. Not yet. The plug is tossed to the desk, Brian catches it before it can roll off, at the same time John shoves in two slick fingers. A third joins not long after.

“Hm, you’re pretty open, wanna share baby?”

“After you fucked me this morning. I put it in,” Brian gasps as John’s fingers withdraw.

“What, thought you’d be good enough to get fucked twice in one day?” John spreads his cheeks.   

Brian looks at the mirror to see Roger crouching and slipping the condom on John before spreading lube over it.

“Thought we couldn’t resist you, knowing what else that mouth his good for other than singing? Knowing that we’ve what you can do with those fingers when you’re chasing your own pleasure?”

Brian knows they can’t resist him, but he won’t say that in case John decides to punish him. Right now, he just wants to be fucked and he has a feeling John would be more than willing to let him want for that. Instead, he spreads his legs a little further apart.

He feels John nudge at his entrance before snapping his hips in. Brian gasps at the sharp feeling. It doesn’t hurt and after a few more shallow thrusts John starts moving quicker. Brian slides against the chair and the desk, and those will be interesting marks to look at later. John isn’t paying much mind to Brian’s own pleasure, chasing his own. Using Brian.

He groans at the thought and his dick jumps. John speeds up again, just barely brushing Brian’s prostate. Brian flicks his eyes up to see John biting down on his lip staring at Brian’s face in the mirror. Roger has taken up residence on the couch, just inside Brian’s vision, lazily stroking his cock.

John doesn’t last much longer, his thrusts getting slower and sloppier. Brian tights around him, which makes John double over and bite down on one of the knobs of his spine. Brian lets out a throaty groan, but John’s hand sneaks around them and grips on the base of his dick in a warning. Brian pants and rolls his hips back. John hisses and bites a second spot a little harder in a promise.

Roger doesn’t take much time before he’s up and behind John. Brian watches Roger places open-mouthed kisses against John’s neck.

“Your turn,” John mumbles as he slips out.

Brian whines at the loss of feeling full. Roger grabs the forgotten bottle of lube. He blows a kiss at Brian’s face in the mirror.

“You can come after Roger does,” John says, tucking himself back in his pants.

He bites back a sigh because he knows Roger is going to take longer now. Especially because they’re fucking in front of a mirror. For the second time that night he feels a cock at his entrance. Roger swipes more lube between his cheeks before pushing in. Brian lets out a quiet moan. Whereas John pushed himself in as fast as he could, Roger is slowly working his way in.

Brian bites his cheek and then gives up and lets each breathy noise leave his lips. His legs are starting to tremble with the effort of standing so awkwardly. It’s a good burn, and it’s exactly on the edge he needs it to be. Roger pulls out before he was fully seated and then slams in. Brian slips forward under the force a loud moan forced from him.

“Quiet, we don’t want to be caught!” Roger warns.

Brian might be more convinced if he didn’t see how Roger’s eyes fluttered at the thought. Even John had to swallow. He catches the blond’s eyes in the mirror, and they don’t drop eye contact as Roger pulls out slowly and thrusts in at the same pace.

He’s sobbing by the third full thrust. The wait killing him along with the borderline pain from his untouched dick. Roger speeds up some, and his fingers flex against Brian’s hip. He’s finally getting close. When Roger’s hands lose any warning in them Brian pushes back, deliberately out of time sending Roger deeper and hitting his prostate in the same action.

Brian would’ve come had it not been for John’s order in the back of his head. Roger doesn’t last much longer with shallow impatient thrusts meant to find his own completion. He stills and Brian sags back as best he can. John’s hand slips between them and it takes an embarrassingly short time before Brian is coming on the back of the chair and his still present shirt.

“We should take this back to the hotel,” Roger says once he catches his breath.

John pulls Brian to his chest who nods breathlessly, “in a moment.”

“I’ll find you a new shirt Bri,” Roger leans in and kisses him on the lips.

As soon as the blond leaves John kisses Brian hotly.

“It’s a little too soon for me, babe.”

John smiles, “I just felt like kissing you.”

* * *

> _Freddie’s hand strokes the velvet of the couch. His fingers leave a trail through the armrest. He looks around. There’s nothing in this room save for four gray walls and a rather large mirror. With a frown, he approaches the mirror. An ornate gold frame spins around the mirror, which isn’t a mirror at all. Instead, it’s a room with more gray._
> 
> _He blinks and John is in the window. His hair is shorter and grayer, but it looks like a painting. Their eyes meet, or rather Freddie looks at John’s eyes and then the color begins to fade from John as though there is nothing there. His smile fades into a frown and his eyes lose their light. Freddie steps back, unsure of what could cause this change._
> 
> _It’s Roger next. He appears as Freddie knows him, young and beautiful, but slowly he grows older. The colorful clothing slowly starts to fade out and is replaced with dark shades, more frequently black and his eyes get covered with sunglasses. He frowns when Roger loses his mischievous smile._
> 
> _Freddie steps back again, and Brian appears. Unlike the others, he is sitting. Arms crossed over each other and a familiar irritated look over his face. He too, begins to change, his shoulders lose their rigidness and his hands fall to his sides. The shirt doesn’t change from its star pattern, but dark hair lightens. When he looks for_ the _change, he notes the red running down Brian’s arms._
> 
> _What?_
> 
> _Brian frown turns to one of accusation._
> 
> _Roger lights up a second wall with a scowl usually reserved for things he finds distasteful._
> 
> _John appears with heavy disappointment on his shoulders._
> 
> _Freddie spins to look at John. Somehow the youngest is the most unsettling. Roger can grow out of his love for fun patterns, especially when the visage of him looks fifty. Brian, well Freddie’s always been afraid there is the one thing in the world that could drive Brian to that. John though. John is levelheaded and happy and always moving. Not still and devastated._

He wakes up clutching his chest. The dream slips through his grasp. Freddie shakes his head, something deep inside of him urging him to see his family. Then he slaps himself lightly on the cheek, it’s just a dream pushing at his insecurities. There isn’t a reason to read up on it.

Brian’s arms flash through his mind and he stumbles towards the phone. He knows they won’t take kindly to being woken up at, he checks the clock, 3:56 in the morning but he needs to talk to Brian. He needs to hear what kind of pajama’s Roger wore to bed and that John still has his spring-breeze laugh.

“Freddie?”

He had forgotten Paul had stayed in the suite’s living room.

“Nothing dear,” Freddie swallows, “just wanted to call the others.”

“At four in the morning?” Paul appears in the door frame.

Freddie might not understand Brian’s instinctive distrust of the man or why Roger can’t seem to spend ten minutes in the same room as him, but he knows not to show weakness. Rather, he knows to only show his weakness to the people who would never turn it against him. Paul hasn’t quite earned that privilege yet.

“They won’t like that,” Paul says.

Freddie shrugs, “they’ll get over it.”

“I’m sure,” Paul shrugs, “or it could be the final straw.”

Freddie tilts his head, “how do you mean?”

“You saw how Roger was after tonight’s show. Brian couldn’t get off stage fast enough and John didn’t even look at you.”

“No, that was something else.”

Freddie looks away not believing his words. Brian had assured him that it was nothing, promised it wasn’t. He trusts Brian’s words that he would’ve said something if the show had been too much.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite certain.”

Freddie huffs. How dare Paul insult the idea that he doesn’t know when his closest companions would lie to him.

“You just need a drink,” Paul says.

“No, I want to talk to them.”

“You can at a more reasonable hour.”

Red flashes through his vision. He doesn’t want to leave it, but then again it has just passed into four in the morning. Paul makes a fair point, and maybe a drink will soothe away his unfounded worry. If there was something wrong with one of the others they would call him. Although it would make him the last to know.

Freddie swallows down the familiar longing. If they wanted him, he’s sure they would have made their moves years ago, like when Roger and Brian invited John. He supposes it happened organically, but Freddie thinks that they would have forced it if they truly wanted him.

The worst thought is maybe they want him out of pity, tired of leaving him out of things.

“A drink sounds lovely.”

Paul grins and for the first time, Freddie feels something other than relief that someone cares for him. He’s done with this pining nonsense. He’ll put an end to it soon.

“Perfect shall I have them bring something up?”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I want something with ice and I’d rather have the ones from the machine. The bar ice just doesn’t taste as well. Might as well pick up the drink while you’re out.”

Paul makes a face, but his pleasant smile is back, “of course, Freddie. Anything else?”

“A pack of crisps.”

Paul bobs his head before leaving the suite. Freddie sits on the bed. He could call now. Finish it before Paul gets back, but maybe this would be another straw on the camel’s back. Waking them all up because of a strange dream. A strange dream that he knows Brian has had similar types of.

Artists always have nightmares.

* * *

Brian feels the ache along his spine. He smiles to himself as he stretches. A quick glance to the clock reveals that they have just over two hours before they need to be presentable in the lobby. If John hadn’t pulled three orgasms out of him last night (including the dressing room one) Brian might try to sneak into the shower with… he listens for a second and hears off-key singing, John.

Roger flops onto the bed next to him, “morning, my love.”

“Good morning, my dearest.”

“I still think love is a better pet name.”

Brian smiles, “my Roger.”

He laughs at how bright Roger’s face goes. Roger punishes him by climbing on top of him and attempting to kiss away Brian’s smile. Brian bats the blond away only to meet a familiar pair of green eyes. The love he feels in the moment is echoed back to him in the gaze.

“Good morning, my John.”

“It kind of sounds like you’re talking about your dick.”

Brian tips Roger off him. He ignores the pout.

“Rog is right, it does sound naughty.”

“You sounded pretty naughty last night,” Brian smirks.

John tosses his towel at Brian’s head but misses and it flops on Roger’s leg instead. The blond squawks about unfair treatment.

“Don’t worry, your turn is tonight.”

Roger shuts up and Brian perks up.

“But first, I think we need to clear the air?”

Brian shares a nervous look with Roger before watching John pull up a pair of trousers and sitting in the chair by the desk. John looks far away and nervousness coils in his stomach. Did they do something wrong? Did John meet someone else?

“We should ask Freddie to join us.”

He lets out a sigh of relief echoed by Roger’s.

“Is that all?” Roger asks, “I don’t have any complaints.”

“Not here,” Brian shrugs, “but you don’t think he’ll reject us, right?”

“Bri?”

“I mean. He’s Freddie Mercury! He can have any bloke he wants,” he carefully doesn’t mention Prenter, “why would he settle with us?”

“Maybe because we’re his bandmates? Exceptionally beautiful and more closely spun than most families?”

“Why Rog, that was almost poetic.”

The blond sticks out his tongue, “there’s another reason, B?”

“Do you remember the end of the Halloween party?”

Roger narrows his eyes before shaking his head.

“I don’t remember the middle of it if I’m honest,” John says.

Brian had thought as much. While it backs up his second hypothesis that Freddie hadn’t remembered, Brian still finds himself biting his lip.

“Bri?”

“We all made out with Freddie that night.”

John blinks.

“And I don’t remember it?” Roger cries, “what was it like? Did I make a fool out of myself?”

“Don’t you always,” Brian replies reflexively, “we were all too drunk to let it escalate. That’s why we woke up the way we did. But what if Freddie remembers and doesn’t want _that_ with us?”

“All we can do is try,” John frowns, “and deal with whatever happens, but I have a feeling he won’t.”

Brian wishes that he could share in John’s optimism. Roger looks ecstatic.

“Are you trying to remember?” John says with a teasing smile.

“Of course! I kissed my best mate! Well, one of them. The one I haven’t kissed yet! I want to know!”

Maybe Roger will have a second chance when they talk to Freddie. Brian taps his finger on his lips. They must ask to get the answer they want, but what if they get the answer they don’t want?

“This could kill Queen,” he murmurs.

Between John’s laughter and Roger’s vivid descriptions of the night leading to his blackout, they don’t hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting pretty close to wrapping it up. Two more chapters I think? But yeah, as always leave your thoughts and comments below or come yell at my on tumblr!  
> I'll see you next time!

**Author's Note:**

> So I promise that this will be a super interesting read! I have a lot of fairly interesting developments planned and feel free to guess at what's actually going on!  
> As always, leave your thoughts below! Or come yell at me @sammyspreadyourwings on tumblr  
> ((I should just make a series of my writing or a new account))


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